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,v> 





THE BEGGAR 
IN THE HEART 

i 



I 


THE BEGGAR IN 
THE HEART 


BY 

EDITH RICKERT 

AUTHOR OF “THE REAPER,” “FOLLY,” “THE 
GOLDEN HAWK,” ETC. 



NEW YORK 

MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 
1909 


-V 



Copyright 1 909 by 
Moffat, Yard and Company 
New York 

All Rights Reserved 
Published, October, 1909 


J 


248306 ({/ 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Room with the Red Curtains . . . i 

II. The Pilgrims 12 

III. The Sale of Psyche 22 

IV. The Coming of Pip 30 

V. The Zoo Party 38 

VI. Reasons and Reasons 45 

VII. Indian Summer 54 

VIII. Tyrrhena and Sidonia 59 

IX. An Affair of Boiled Rabbit 66 

X. Larry is Made a Fool 74 

XI. The Poor at a Dinner 81 

XII. A Cab But no Progress 90 

XIII. Three Eyes to Bumpus 100 

XIV. The Thumb of Bumpus no 

XV. Ways and Means 121 

XVI. In Quest of Gold 130 

XVII. The Little Gods Have an Airing . . .137 

XVIII. The Little Gods Come Home 149 

XIX. Fresh Dangers of the Charity Habit . .158 

XX. Chiefly Concerning Eros 172 

XXI. His Lordship to the Rescue 181 

XXII. The Hare and the Hunters 190 

XXIII. Cross-purposes 197 

XXIV. The Tug of War 207 

XXV. Cigars and Conspiracy in St. James's Park 216 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXVI. The History of Five Weeks Ends with 

Hydrophobia 223 

XXVII. The Ruins of Rome 232 

XXVIII. The Countess Washes Her Hands . . . 240 

XXIX. “Pouf*” 248 

XXX. “The Old Order Changeth ” 263 

XXXI. The Policeman Settles a Difference of 

Opinion 272 

XXXII. Love at the Corner Shop 280 

XXXIII. The Catastroph' 286 

XXXIV. The Open Road 295 

XXXV. On the Enemy's Land 303 

XXXVI. A Perverse Pilgrim . . t 31 1 

XXXVII. The Nets are Spread 320 

XXXVIII. The Countess Writes a Diplomatic Note 329 

XXXIX. The Prodigal Mistress 334 

XL. All the Beggars in the Glass . . . .342 


THE BEGGAR IN 
THE HEART 


CHAPTER I 

THE ROOM WITH THE RED CURTAINS 

The child sat on an old sea-chest, her legs tucked 
under her, blue eyes staring hard into the convex 
mirror. “ Sidonia,” she said, “ the house is so 
still, I can hear grandfather ticking on the stairs, 
with the door shut.” 

She waited until the little fair-haired reflection 
of herself had listened and nodded, then she con- 
tinued : “ Isn’t it the loneliest place ever was, Sid ? 
Of course, it’s terrible to have your father die all 
at once when you aren’t expecting it — even if 
you didn’t see him more than once a day and he 
was always looking through your spine; and of 
course, a minister is a very important person in a 
town, but then what’s the use of sitting in the par- 
lour with the blinds down, crying all the time ? ” 

Clearly Sidonia did not know. 

“Aunt Luella says it was the exegesis killed 
him. Do you know what an exegesis is, Sid? I 
l 


2 


THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


sort of think it's a cough. I kept telling him 
he ought to take something for it, but he only 
said: ‘ Yes, yes, child/ and patted my chair 
instead of me — you know his way. . . . 

Aunt Luella says we’ll have to leave this house soon, 
and maybe there won’t be any Red Room where we 
go. And perhaps she’ll remember this looking- 
glass and hang it up in the parlour again, and I 
sha’n’t be able to run away and play with you, 
Sid, or even speak to you, for fear people might 
find out about us two. There won’t be any you 
any more and I shall break my heart and die and 
go to heaven, and never, never , never come back 
to earth again; and it will be just horrid! Oh, 
dear, deary ! ” 

Suddenly the two of them wept together, but 
quietly lest Aunt Luella should hear; but very 
soon they looked at each other with April smiles: 
“ Well, you needn’t be such a cry-baby ! It hasn’t 
happened yet, and it’s quite likely that the fairy 
godmother or somebody will come along and make 
everything all right. There’s wheels now — per- 
haps it’s her coach — and they’ve stopped at the 
door . . . and Aunt Luella is going . . . 

“ Well, as we’re not allowed to dress up, I’ve 
just got to sit on the chest to keep temptation in. 
I always want to do things most specially when 
Aunt Luella says I mustn’t; but of course, now 
we’ve had a funeral in the family only this week 
. . . You know you’re just dying to be the 


THE ROOM WITH RED CURTAINS 3 


Princess Persinella, Sid ; and you do look lul- 
lovely in that green-and-white flowered silk that 
was mother’s, with the little leaves and rosebuds 
all of green and pink ribbon, and the lace parasol 
and the pearly- fringe for a crown ... oh, 
dear, deary ! ” 

She thumped several times on the box to keep 
the evil spirit in, with caution, however; and then 
she said with much dignity to the twin in the glass 
that hung behind the door : “ I think I’ll have to 
tell you a story, Sidonia, to keep you quiet — 
you’re just aching to be naughty. . . . Let me 

see. . . . Once there was a little girl named 

Tyrrhena Sidonia Coverdale, and she was the only 
child of the Congregational minister in the town of 
Harmony, Massachusetts; and she lived with her 
father and her Aunt Luella in the square white 
house next door to the church. (Oh, I know you 
know it all, but that’s the way the stories always 
begin; so just be still and listen.) They used to 
call her Renie or Rene, for short, because — well, 
because they had to try to make something Chris- 
tian out of her name, I s’pose. . . . When she 

was older she went to school, and the other chil- 
dren were just plain Tom and Mary and like that; 
and she wondered why she was all different, but 
nobody ever told her. Aunt Luella only said : 
‘ Oh, it’s a long story. Children musn’t be in- 
quisitive.’ And she never dared ask her father; 
he was so quick to be cross. 


4 


THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ One time, when she was still rather a little girl, 
there was more house-cleaning than ever in the 
spring; and Aunt Luella turned out all the par- 
lour furniture and put it upstairs in the bedrooms 

— all but the sofa which I guess was too big to 
move; and she bought beautiful new green rep 
chairs, and made everything look lovely. But the 
best part of it was, she put into a place that Rene 
called the Red Room — because it had red curtains 
in the window, where trunks and boxes were kept 

— all the things she didn't want downstairs; and 
among them was the Magic Mirror. It wasn’t 
like any ordinary glass, but it stuck out every- 
where all over itself and made a picture of the 
whole room ; and it had a mag-m/-icent gold frame 
with a spread-eagle that cost a hundred dollars, 
I guess, or two. Aunt Luella said it needed a 
new back and that was why everything looked 
so funny in it; but Rene knew all along that was 
the Magic , and she was going to come into the 
Red Room by herself and say spells , and perhaps 
something would happen. 

“ The very first day, she walked to the glass 
on tiptoe and shut the Red Room door behind her 

— I don’t mind telling you now, Sidonia, because 
we’re so very much older, that she was a wee bit 
scairt — there came another little girl to meet her, 
but so weeny, you’d never think! She wasn’t the 
same, Sidonia, I tell you truly, because her face 
was all screwed up and there looked like a tear in 


THE ROOM WITH RED CURTAINS 5 


her apron, which wasn’t so outside, and there was a 
grass stain on her white stocking, which Aunt Luella 
would have seen if it had-a-been. So Tyrrhena 
Sidonia said to her : ‘ I s’pose you’ve come to play 
with me, but you won’t tell me your real name 
because you’re a fairy; and so, as I’ve got two, 
I’ll spare you one of mine, and you shall be 
Sidonia. . . 

“ Well, after that, they had games together 
whenever Aunt Luella wasn’t likely to come in and 
spoil it all. And sometimes she let them dress up 
in mother’s old silk dresses and bonnets out of 
the sea-chest that used to belong to the pirate. 
. . . And one day Tyrrhena’s father died and 

after the funeral, when she had cried all the cry 
that was in her, she came up to the Red Room to 
talk to Sidonia. But they had scarcely sat down 
together before a horse came a-swooping up the 
road and the pirate got off and drew his great 
googly - sword and said to Aunt Luella who opened 
the door : : ‘ Avaunt, minion ! I’ve come all the 
way from Cathay, and my boat is anchored down 
in the river; and I want to know if there’s a little 
girl here, whose name is . . . 9 ” 

“ Rene ! Rene ! ” called a shrill voice up the 
stairway. 

“ There ! It’s come true ! ” cried the child, with 
fluttering heart, as she ran and leaned over the 
railing. “ I thought he didn’t ring the bell like 
any ordinary person.” 


6 


THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“What are you doing up there? Mercy! You 
are untidy! Run and wash your hands and comb 
your hair and put on a clean apron and come 
downstairs. Your uncle Benjamin Pickersgill is 
here.” 

So that was the pirate’s name. She had never 
heard it before in her life, but it sounded somehow 
quite natural; and she was ready to believe that he 
had come all the way from Cathay. But perhaps 
it was only from Bideford, the next town; Aunt 
Luella couldn’t “ abide the tribe ” of the Pickers- 
gills, and the two families were not on visiting 
terms. 

The moment Tyrrhena Sidonia entered the par- 
lour, walking gingerly because the straw, packed 
under the carpet to save wear, crackled so loudly 
with each step that it made her feel shy — the 
moment she entered, she knew that Uncle Benja- 
min Pickersgill was not afraid of Aunt Luella, 
for he had opened the shutters wide and the win- 
dow too, and the sun was pouring in on the carpet, 
and Aunt Luella said never a word. 

“ This is Sarah’s child,” she explained, in a very 
disagreeable tone. “ Tyrrhena, when you have 
shaken hands with your uncle, you may sit down 
quietly on the sofa.” 

Oh, dear, deary! Aunt Luella was as cross as 
cross when she made you sit on the sofa! It was 
all shiny and slidy, and so wide that your feet 
couldn’t hang down, but stuck straight out in front 


THE ROOM WITH RED, CURTAINS 7 


of you; and you had to keep hunching yourself 
back or you would have slid off altogether. 

But somehow her command was not obeyed. It 
was Uncle Benjamin that sat down, in the best 
green rep arm-chair too, and said sternly, “ No, 
you don’t!” and took Rene on his knee. And 
all in a moment she knew that she should call him 
Uncle Ben and love him for ever after. 

“ Bless my soul ! ” said he gruffly, looking rather 
like a bear, with his bristly short beard. “ Can’t 
you treat your long-lost uncle a little better than 
this ? ” And then she hugged him and kissed him 
harder than she ever did anybody before in her 
life, because she knew he was the sort of person 
you could do it to. 

“ See here, Luella ” — he said the name quite as 
if he didn’t mind Aunt a bit — “ what did you call 
the kid just now ? ” 

“ Her name is Tyrrhena Sidonia,” said Aunt 
Luella, biting her words. “ That was your sister’s 
choice.” 

“To be honest, they told me as much in Bide- 
ford, but I said I didn’t believe it. Still, poor 
Sally did some daft things in her life.” He added, 
under his breath as if he did not wish Aunt Luella 
to hear: “ Such as marrying Reuben, for example.” 

But she had the ears of a cat, and caught him 
up with: “ I agree with you, Benjamin, that it was 
unfortunate; but it cannot be remedied.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Uncle Ben, “ she remedied it 


8 


THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


when she died. How old are you, puss? Nine? 
What an age! ” He turned to Aunt Luella again: 
“ This is what they told me over in Bide ford about 
the name. They said poor Sally studied Biblical 
geography all that time Reuben was in Palestine for 
his health or whatever it was ; and when this young- 
ster appeared, she reckoned he must have been 
somewhere about Tyre and Sidon, and thought the 
names would be a pretty tribute to him. But he 
wasn’t pleased, it seems — wanted her called Reu- 
bena — sand-blind and fly-stung, I suppose; I’ve 
been there and I know — and he wrote her back a 
letter that broke her heart — so they say in Bide- 
ford. Anyway, when he came home, he wrote her 
a choice epitaph.” 

Now Tyrrhena Sidonia did not understand the 
bitterness in Uncle Ben’s speech until years after; 
but she saw clearly enough that he and Aunt Luella 
did not love each other. 

“ They’re outlandish, heathen names anyway ! ” 
shrilled Aunt Luella. 

“ Well, it was rum,” mused Uncle Ben. And 
when Tyrrhena Sidonia asked him timidly what 
that that you mustn’t ever drink had to do with 
it, he laughed and seemed to jerk himself together : 
“ The point is, youngster — would you like to 
come with me to Paris to live ? ” 

Before she thought, she had gasped out : “ So 
you are the pirate after all, and is your boat 
anchored close by ? ” 


THE ROOM WITH RED CURTAINS 9 


“ Yes, I’m a pirate right enough, and my boat 
is anchored in Boston.” 

“ And have you a sword ? ” 

“ Three or four of ’em at my house ; but I don’t 
wear ’em every day.” 

“ Don’t tell the child lies, Benjamin,” said Aunt 
Luella. 

Uncle Ben whistled. Even in the beginning, 
Tyrrhena had noticed that he was the kind of 
man that always looked as if he wanted to whistle 
even when he wasn’t doing it. Then he said: 
“ All that I told her, Luella, is strictly true.” 

Then Aunt Luella changed the subject, with a 
warning : “ She hasn’t a penny in the world, you 
know.” 

As quick, as quick, Uncle Ben drew a handful 
of coins from his pocket and began to drop them 
one by one into Tyrrhena’s apron: “Yes, she has 
— plenty; and she shall never lack while I am 
alive.” 

Somehow it seemed to be settled already that 
she was to go as soon as she could be made ready. 
“And you know, Sidonia,” she said, in the looking- 
glass when Uncle Ben had driven away, “ Paris 
is almost as far off as Cathay; indeed, I don’t 
just know where Cathay is, do you?” 

After that, there was no more peace in the house 
while Aunt Luella bestirred herself with prepara- 
tions. Uncle Ben stayed in Bideford, visiting all 
the relations he had not seen since he went away to 


IO THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


Paris before Tyrrhena was born, he told her; but 
often he rode over and brought her a doll or a 
necklace or peppermints or things, for all that 
Aunt Luella said he was spoiling her finely; and 
they had talks together and became very well ac- 
quainted. 

“You’re quite sure you’re not a minister?” she 
asked him doubtfully one day. 

“ Oh, quite,” said he. “ I’m very well known 
as a pirate in Bide ford; but when I live at home 
I’m a painter.” 

“ I know,” she said. “ They come to do our 
house in the spring; and they sit on a board that 
goes up and down on ropes.” 

“ I don’t,” said he, “ because I don’t paint any- 
thing as big as houses. But I’ll teach you all I 
know some day, if you like to learn.” 

“ Goody ! ” she cried. “ I love messing ! Only 
I’m not allowed to, because it spoils my aprons. 
But I’d rather play with mud than do anything 
else!” 

“Mud-pies, eh?” 

“ Not pies only,” she corrected him. “ Babies 
and animals and everything nice that you could 
think of.” 

“ All right,” said he. “ We always have a 
dirty pinafore or two lying about. And I’ve plenty 
of mud at my house.” 

Was there ever before an uncle invented who 
was a pirate with swords, and lived over the seas, 


THE ROOM WITH RED CURTAINS u 


and kept dirty pinafores and mud especially, it 
seemed, for a lonely child to play with ? 

In all the bustle of new clothes and packing, 
Tyrrhena had one grief heavy upon her heart, and 
that was the thought of leaving behind her little 
playmate in the looking-glass. On the very day 
before they set out for Boston, when Aunt Luella 
was deep in the packing, the child plucked up 
courage to whisper to her uncle the whole story 
of the Red Room and the Magic Mirror and 
Sidonia. 

“ Bless me, let’s go and have a look,” said he; 
and they went hand in hand. 

As soon as he saw the convex mirror in its 
spread-eagle frame, he cried : “ Why that’s the 
very glass I gave your mother as a wedding-pres- 
ent ! Who should have it but you ? ” 

He took it down himself, from its place behind 
the door, and saw that Aunt LuelD packed it care- 
fully among the flannels. 

Then he smiled at the little girl who stood by, 
solemnly watching the procedure. “ Well, child,” 
said he, “ that’s a funny little beggar in the glass 
there, and the one outside isn’t much better. I 
wonder what you’ll make of it all? ” 

And this is a perfectly true record how Tyrrhena 
Sidonia Coverdale left the New England home of 
her ancestors, eloping with a pirate, and carrying 
a Magic Mirror in her trunk. 


CHAPTER II 


THE PILGRIMS 

They were the most oddly-assorted pair, I do 
believe, that ever climbed the steep slopes of 
Montmartre. By some of Uncle Ben’s friends 
they were dubbed “ Granny and his Kid by others 
the “ Crab ” — from the pirate’s frequent sidewise 
gait that led him ever on tracks away from his 
destination — “with the Limpet on his shell.” 

And “ Limpet ” Uncle Ben sometimes called her, 
but more often, when they were speaking French, 
Jou-Jou, or Petit Jou-Jou. Even among other 
people, her queer New England name was very 
speedily modified into the pretty French Renee, 
and Tyrrhena Sidonia was relegated to the store- 
room of the past. 

Uncle Ben kept on his ramshackle studio, and 
hired just below it in the same building, a tiny 
flat with four toy rooms and a bonne to take charge 
of them and of the Kid. Further, he placed the 
Limpet with the Sisters of the Sacred Heart, 
whither she was conveyed by the bonne early in 
the morning, and whence she was rescued by the 
same good woman late in the afternoon, having 
acquired in the interim some knowledge of music 
12 


THE PILGRIMS 


13 


and sewing and embroidery, French literature, 
Catechism and other polite arts. From that 
blessed hour until dinner-time, she was allowed in 
the studio, and messed as much as she pleased, in 
her own corner, with paints or with clay, all the 
while chattering, in French and English indiffer- 
ently, to the pirate-painter, in company with the 
studio dog, Pou-Pou, and a stray ginger-cat called 
Frou-Frou — both names be it observed, being 
nicely rhymed with Jou-Jou. Now and again she 
was called upon to be a model, and did so with all 
the will in the world, and with a lofty scorn of the 
possibility that there might be afterwards some 
form of treat, a drive in the Bois, a ramble along 
the Seine, chocolate on the pavement, music in the 
Luxembourg Gardens, an armful of rubbish — any 
pretty thing she fancied, until Madame Lecocq 
held up horrified hands, quite as Aunt Luella might 
have done, at the way she was spoiled. 

They two agreed, Granny and the Kid, the Crab 
and the Limpet, the Pirate and Jou-Jou, that the 
best moment of the day was when work and play 
were done, and the smell of dinner was just rising 
in their nostrils, as they sat and waited for it, in 
the big window overlooking half Paris. It 
seemed then as if the whole world lay at their feet, 
to be had for the asking, all in a cloud of blue 
smoke wherein the lights began to twinkle one by 
one until it was hard to distinguish between the 
earth below and the starry sky above. 


14 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


The years slipped on unnoticed, until Renee was 
promoted to read Athalie and Le Cid at the convent 
school, and was expert theoretically in the varieties 
of sin. Then one day she had a sixteenth birth- 
day, and with the sly help of Madame Lecocq came 
to breakfast with her mop of yellow curls done 
into a high roll, and her dress lengthened to her 
boot-tops. 

“ Oh, go back , Jou-Jou!” growled Uncle Ben. 
And she was vexed and disappointed, thinking that 
he meant to send her to her room, and wondered 
why. 

He explained with a grave face that it was all 
nonsense about her growing up, and that he 
wouldn’t have it, and so on and so on — bombast- 
ing away at a great rate until he had finished his 
second roll. 

She took it philosophically : “ I’m sorry, Uncle 
Ben, but it’s quite true that I shall be finished at the 
school, this year, and the Sisters will turn me loose 
on you in a few months; and you’ll have to put 
up with me messing about in the clay here as much 
as ever I like.” 

“ I shall, shall I ? I don’t know about that. 
You’ll be marrying some spindly little fool of 
a Frenchman one of these days! ” 

“Not I!” she laughed. “Not spindly!” 

“ Or a great beefy hulk of an Englishman ! ” 

“ No,” she laughed gaily, “ not beefy ! ” 

She tried to hug away his discomfort, but was 


THE PILGRIMS 


15 


faced with the possibility of a “ beery, chopped-up 
German student,” a “ leery Spaniard,” a “ monkey- 
footed Italian,” a “ razor-chinned Yankee,” and 
others, down to a “ curly-queued Chinee,” before 
he had done with her. 

“ I don’t like any of them,” she said, “ and I 
won’t have any of them as long as you live, you 
old bear ! ” Then she broke into a thousand en- 
dearments in French that nearly made him forget 
his growling. 

But his alarm was still so great that instead of 
giving her a birthday fete as usual, and inviting 
his friends to come and drink her health, he bought 
her an exquisite little pearl necklace, and took her 
to St. Cloud — just the two of them going together, 
in the afternoon. And when towards evening his 
old chums stole up the stairway by ones and twos, 
bearing large bouquets in paper holders, or boxes 
of bon-bons, or even little jewel-trinkets, he shut 
the door almost upon their offended noses, and sent 
them to the right-about home. 

Just as Renee left him to smoke his last pipe 
before going to bed, he rumpled his hair worse 
than usual and said : “ Look here, Jou-Jou, we’ve 
got to do something about this. As soon as you’ve 
finished your school-nonsense, white dress and veil 
and all, and when I’ve touched up two or three 
commissions now in hand, we’ll strike our tents 
and be off somewhere, on a pilgrimage or a Grand 
Tour, for your education. What say?” — he 


16 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


never quite lost his native New Englandisms. 

She was almost as wild with joy as on that far- 
off day when he had saved her from Aunt Luella ; 
but for some weeks nothing happened. Then one 
afternoon, he came in suddenly and found her very 
pink and tear-wet, with his pupil, young Regnault, 
on his knees before her — Regnault whose bou- 
quet of white camelias had been the largest of all 
and had contained a little gold heart in its centre! 

Within the week Madame Lecocq was left to 
make clearance, while uncle arid niece sped across 
the border into Germany. 

That was the beginning of their pilgrimage, in- 
tended at first to be of a few months only, for the 
shaking off of unwelcome suitors. But one day, 
half a year later, Uncle Ben said, after a pro- 
longed study of his investments and balances: “If 
we go slow and humble, we’ve enough income to 
keep on with until we’ve sucked the old orange 
dry. Shall we continue ? ” 

Well, they went “ slow ” but not particularly 
“ humble,” making friends everywhere, and pick- 
ing up here and there a treasure of metal or wood- 
work, paint, stuff or marble, until they knew 
heart and soul, all Germany and Scandinavia and 
the Low Countries. For some reason never told. 
Uncle Ben refused to cross the Channel to England. 
“ No, no,” was his only excuse, “ I know it too 
well. Save it up until your old age, when I am 
gone.” 


THE PILGRIMS 


i7 


And Renee in her own thoughts wondered if he 
had had an unhappy love-affair with a girl of that 
country, just before his heart had been touched 
by the forlorn state of his little orphan niece left 
to the mercies of Aunt Luella. But he never said. 

They roamed afterwards through a good deal of 
Russia and Turkey and Austria, and came at last 
to Venice, where they were fast netted and held 
captive in an old palace for several years, and 
whence they made only short flights over Italy and 
into Southern France. 

Some trifling incident — I believe it was the per- 
sistence of an Italian suitor — led them to break 
camp again and wander on, this time to Spain and 
Portugal, thence to the coast of Northern Africa, 
almost to the heart of Egypt, 

All this while, they lived at the bidding of the 
spirit, limited only by the contents of the cash 
box. They painted and modelled in clay, excavated, 
learned strange tongues and customs, songs and 
dances; Uncle Ben fiddled and Renee had her 
guitar, and both sang sweetly enough under the 
desert stars or to the flap of the sail of a fishing- 
boat at sea. They could live happily for a week 
on bread and cheese and coffee and fruit, if a 
cheque failed to turn up, or a picture was not sold, 
and they were often reduced to native dress 
through lack of means to replace their own gar- 
ments; but through the many years of their wan- 
derings, scarcely a month went by that some treas- 


18 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


ure was not sent to Paris to be stored with the 
things from the studio. 

In Egypt they were caught in the spell of the 
Orient, and afterwards traversed the Holy Land, 
Syria and much of Asia Minor, passing thence into 
Persia and ancient Babylonia, and so went down 
across the hills into India. And at times, Renee 
wore heavy boots and tramped all day long, like a 
man, and sometimes she put on a tulle dress and 
danced all night long at garrison balls. 

It would be difficult to say what they omitted 
in their pilgrimage. Burma knew them, Siam and 
Ceylon and many of the small islands, China and 
Japan. It was when they had lived some time in 
this last, and were standing one day by the sea, 
debating whether or not to cross over to Honolulu 
and thence to the States, that Uncle Ben said 
abruptly: “No, no, Jou-Jou, I’m getting to be an 
old man — look at my streaky beard. I ought to 
be seeing about some good work if I’m to be the 
immortal that you prophesy! Let’s make tracks 
for Paris.” 

It is not to be supposed that Renee’s course was 
unattended by other such affairs as that of young 
Regnault. I cannot tell them all over; but I know 
that in Gottingen a young lieutenant of hussars 
fought a duel with a student on her account, and 
she turned her back upon both ; that at Copenhagen 
an attach^ of the British Embassy had to be talked- 
to — seriously — by Uncle Ben; that an Italian 


THE PILGRIMS 


19 


nobleman threatened suicide and a Russian count 
had to be dragged off by the police. In the Orient, 
she might have married half the unmarried men in 
any garrison or colony that she graced, from a Brit- 
ish major-general to a New Bedford sea-captain, 
and from a millionaire to a sugar-planter under gov- 
ernment patronage. It was not that she was so 
supremely lovely; but she was pretty enough for 
mischief and she had a way with her quite unwar- 
ranted by her New England ancestry. 

“ Why don’t I, uncle?” she asked once, after 
turning down a ten days’ acquaintance. 

“ I can’t imagine,” said he, looking at her side- 
ways. 

“ But I can ! ” she was quick to retort. “ Be- 
cause there’s never a man of them all in the world 
half as good as you ! ” 

“ Poor fellows ! ” said he. “ But you’ll find 
t’other one some day. And when you do . . .” 

“ When I do,” she said, “ I shall know by the 
voice in my own heart ; but whether I shall listen — 
there’s no telling ! ” 

They drifted slowly westward towards Paris, 
but Greece caught them by the way; and roaming 
in the Archipelago, they found Calypso’s Isle many 
times over. 

On one of these little rock-gardens in the sea — 
I am not sure whether it was Kos or another — they 
had permission to excavate a temple, and unearthed 
many treasures of marble and terra-cotta. In the 


20 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


breathless interest of search and discovery, they 
forgot times and seasons and meals, and worked 
at all hours, day and night, until the midsummer sun 
blazed like molten silver; and one terrible afternoon 
Uncle Ben, who had been quoting how Phoebus 
Apollo drew his bow and sent deadly arrows 
into the camp of the Greeks, himself fell stricken. 

There was nothing to do but bear him to the 
shade of a rock and bathe his head in cold water; 
and within three hours he lay still, having from the 
first uttered no word of comfort for his fellow- 
pilgrim so suddenly left alone in the world. 

“ Sunstroke,” was the verdict of the Greek doc- 
tor, who came trotting up on a donkey, hours after 
it was over ; and doubtless he was right. 

In his pocket-book they found a scribbled will, 
leaving to Tyrrhena Sidonia Coverdale, his be- 
loved niece, all his collections and such moneys as 
remained after his debts were paid. Her he im- 
plored, if death should overtake him suddenly, to see 
that he should be buried on a pyre, in the Greek 
manner, and his ashes scattered in the sea. 

And this she did. How she managed with the 
authorities I cannot tell, but in those days many 
things were possible. All night long, she held his 
head in her lap bidding farewell to the dear, dear 
past and praying as best she could for guidance 
in the trackless future. In the violet dawn her 
Greeks came to her, not without tears for the mas- 
ter they had loved, and told her that the wood 


THE PILGRIMS 


21 


was ready in such fashion as they knew how to 
build. And she herself kindled the flame, and sat 
on the cliff between the purple sky and the purple 
sea and watched until they brought her the ashes 
in an urn that she had chosen for that use. 

And when she had done all that she could for 
him who had been father and mother in one to 
her, those many years, she walked along the sea 
to take up her pilgrimage alone. 


CHAPTER III 


THE SALE OF PSYCHE 

She made her way to London presently, perhaps 
dimly remembering his word that she would there 
find a home for her later years, perhaps because 
as it was necessary to make a fresh beginning in 
life, she found it more bearable to cut adrift from 
old, dear associations. 

Be that as it will, one grey day in September, 
she found herself surrounded by open, half-empty 
packing cases, in a dingy room in a Queen Square 
lodging-house, once more face to face after many 
years with her other self in the little convex 
mirror. 

“ Dear, deary ! ” was her comment — it was so 
long since she had looked at herself. “ You are 
growing old, Sidonia ! ” 

This was no naughty Sid of the torn pinafore, 
no demure Renee at her convent stitchery, but a 
pale little woman in black, with gray in her golden 
hair and sorrowful lines about her delicate lips. 
Yet her eyes, as blue as ever, encountering the gaze 
of her diminutive counterpart in the glass, were 
forced to smile, so evidently did those others twinkle 
22 


THE SALE OF PSYCHE 23 

in the droll little face that was hers and yet not 
hers. 

One of Uncle Ben’s often repeated remarks 
flashed across her mind: “ You’re a funny little 
beggar ! I wonder what you will make of life when 
you really get to it ? ” 

“ Well, sister,” she murmured, “ we must 
chum up and smile at each other, as you say. One 
needs to smile hard when one’s life is cut through 
in the middle and one has to grow another head 
to the broken-off piece — poor little worm ! ” 

In Paris, she had had a time that she shuddered 
to remember, looking over old treasures that they 
two had loved together and deciding which must 
be sold and which might wander with her a little 
longer on her pilgrimage. 

There was no money — or next to none — a 
few hundred pounds only. She had known for 
some years that they were living on their capital, as 
Uncle Ben grew old and out of fashion in the art 
world; and she had understood his spasmodic zeal 
to return to Paris and make a last frantic effort 
for a place among the immortals. For his 
sake, she was glad that he was spared the misery 
which he foresaw, of disillusion and the outliving 
of fame and money. She could fight, she told 
herself many times over by way of comfort; but 
he was grown old in her love and service, and had 
well earned the rest that came to him so easily 
and softly by the Greek seas. 


24 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


And so the Pirate-Painter, he who had always 
scoffed at the laws and conventions of men, was 
set free from his clay; and his little Jou-Jou, his 
plaything, was brought to the potter’s wheel to 
mould the clay, of the earth into beautiful shapes, 
and the clay of her body into more perfect accord 
with her spirit. 

Yes, she would be a w r orking-potter, she told 
Sidonia, one night by the fireside. She had not 
the genius or the training to be a sculptor, so she 
would mould pretty things for daily life, in clay, in 
stucco and in gesso, to earn honest bread and find 
such joy as she might in the doing. 

“ We are miniatures, you and I, Sidonia,” she 
said, “ as the Magic Mirror shows well enough. 
We must be content to do the little things and love 
the big ones.” 

The very next morning, without any advice at all, 
she turned the bulk of her money into a slender 
annuity, and returned to her desolate room with a 
sense of comfort. 

“ Sidonia, being an elderly woman, I thought it 
as well that we make sure of a place to sit in while 
we work. Fire and bread may come later.” She 
had given over, you see, asking for joy; and this 
simple fact alone shows how young she was in her 
grief. For age it is that clamours for little happi- 
nesses by the way ; youth demands its heart’s desire 
or nothing. Renee, now that she had lost him who 
had filled to the brim her measure of love, looked 


THE SALE OF PSYCHE 


25 


for nothing else to come to her in this world. She 
only set her little chin hard in the resolve to play 
the game to the end — to push her pilgrimage to 
its unknown Mecca without falling by the way. 

And first she set about making for herself a nest 
in that dreary lodging-house in Queen Square. I 
suppose there were never in the world two other 
rooms to match hers, in which all the big furniture 
was made out of packing-cases in disguise. She 
slept in the biggest box of all, and the top of it 
served as dressing-table. Others she metamor- 
phosed into shelves and cupboards and benches and 
dining-table and all else that she needed. And not- 
withstanding these makeshifts, her Georgian pan- 
elled sitting-room glowed like a jewel with her 
treasures — little gods in silver and brass and 
painted wood, bronze and marble and ivory, jade, 
alabaster and terra cotta, vases and bowls and cups 
of porcelain and faience of many nations, cop- 
per and lacquer-work, rare old glass; and it was 
of an Oriental richness with Persian tapestries and 
Indian rugs and strange, velvety, hand-printed cot- 
tons from Java. 

But there came the day when the treasures she 
had set aside to be sold were put up at auction ; and 
she went to the sale simply because she could not 
keep away, hovering with resentful eyes whenever 
any of her beloved treasures was appraised or dis- 
praised by a stranger. 

She made many changes in the list, withdrawing 


26 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


things that she found she could not, upon second or 
third thoughts, live without, until at last the auc- 
tioneer said to her curtly that unless she stopped, 
he would retire because there would be nothing left 
to sell. 

When he took his place with the hammer, she 
fled under a pretence to herself of the need of 
luncheon, and after staying away until she could 
bear it no longer, returned only in time to see her 
beloved Psyche knocked down. 

As some strange madness had led her into the 
error of setting the little figure on the wrong side 
when the packers came to collect for the sale, a sim- 
ilar blindness had made her not see or realize the 
import of the name on the list. 

Much had gone that was dear — but Psyche 
was almost the last thing Uncle Ben had found on 
the island of Kos ! She remembered with a stab of 
pain, the shaking of his hands as he cleared away 
the mould, and the quiver in his voice as he mur- 
mured : “ What a treasure — a perfect treasure ! ” 

And in her madness she had let it go ! 

She tiptoed her way among the tables until she 
found the little figure where it lay among its kin- 
dred in a glass case ; and there she covered her face 
with her hands to check a sob. 

Suddenly with a feeling that she was being ob- 
served, she turned and found a tall grey-haired man 
looking down upon her with an expression of kindly 
interest not unmixed with amusement. It occurred 


THE SALE OF PSYCHE 


27 


to her that he might be the purchaser come to gloat 
over his prize, and without preamble she asked him 
if this were so. 

“ No,” said he, “ but I can take you to her. 
Shall I?” 

Perceiving before she could answer that his sug- 
gestion was welcome, he led the way to a handsome 
grey-haired woman, rather showily dressed in grey 
silk with amethysts, introduced the two with a brief, 
“ Alicia, this lady has some business with you,” 
and withdrew. 

Renee could not well remember what she said, 
but she must have been tactless, for the other 
woman answered tersely : “ Certainly not ! I never 
change my mind ! ” 

In vain Renee tried entreaties and threats and 
bribes. When she even offered to buy the little fig- 
ure back at twice the sum bid, the grey-haired lady 
turned away her face with its high-bridged nose 
and remarked with asperity : “ The woman’s a 

fool!” 

“ That is perfectly true,” confessed Renee ; and 
in her distress looked about for the husband to 
come to her rescue. He was not far, bending his 
keen, clear-cut profile over another case; and he 
turned almost at once his piercing and yet sympa- 
thetic glance upon her trouble. “ Don’t worry ! 
What’s your address? I’ll see what I can do for 
you,” he said. 

No later than the next morning, as Gladys, the 


28 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


general servant at the Queen Square house, was 
coming downstairs with a breakfast tray, she had 
to set this upon the hall table to admit a visitor 
whose name gave her a stitch in the side as she 
read it. 

Selecting the cleanest corner of her apron, she 
seized the card with care, and with the dirtiest 
corner brushing the dust from a chair for the 
gentleman, she conveyed to Miss Coverdale the bit 
of pasteboard that intimated the near proximity of 
a real lord. 

“ Lord Wharton? ” said Renee. “ I don’t know 
him . . . What is he like ? ” 

“ A grey gentleman dressed in grey, with sharp 
eyes-like,” said Gladys. Then Renee remembered 
that he would probably be the husband of “ that 
woman,” and for all that she was mending a shabby 
pair of gloves, consented to his admittance. 

However, his first words pointed to a wrong as- 
sumption on her part : “ I have called for my sis- 
ter, Lady Savernake, to say that she has relin- 
quished her claim to the Psyche , . . .” 

“ The darling ! ” cried Renee, with an enchanting 
smile, in her great relief. 

He looked amused as well as surprised : “ She 

makes one condition, however. It is only that you 
will let her have a replica made at her own expense. 
It seems that she has taken a particular fancy to the 
figure.” 

“ Oh, as to that,” she said, with a sudden flush, 


THE SALE OF PSYCHE 


29 


“ I would gladly make her a copy — so gladly — ” 

“You would make it?” he asked. “I don’t 
quite understand . . . ? ” 

His friendly interest was the first sunshine that 
had descended upon her in this foggy isle; and in 
its warmth and light, she was led on to talk of 
herself and her loss, her treasures and her 
aims. . . . 

In the end, when he rose to go, he said, “ Give 
me second place on your list. I’d like a copy of 
that bronze Cupid on the shelf over there. If you’ll 
model it, I’ll have it cast.” 

She thought she understood his delicate kind- 
ness, and met it sweetly : “ I shall love to — by 

way of thanks for getting me back the Psyche. I 
know you did it — and not too easily, I suspect.” 

He stared a moment, then broke into genial 
laughter, short but appreciative. “ Nonsense ! ” he 
said, and in the word a resemblance to his sister 
came out. “ No question of thanks; it’s an order, 
you know.” 

He was gone before she could find a proper 
retort. 

“Sidonia,” she said, going over to the fireside, 
“ that man is going to give us trouble — - mark my 
words.” 


CHAPTER IV, 


THE COMING OF PIP 

It was not many months that Renee was con- 
tent to live in Queen Square. She felt unutter- 
ably lonely and friendless in the old house where 
shabby-genteel people went daily up and down the 
carved, ghost-haunted', echoing stairways, with 
never a word of kindness or greeting for one an- 
other. 

“If I’ve got to be poor,” said she to Sidonia one 
day, “ I’ll go and be poor with all my heart ! Shall 
we take a workman’s flat, my dear ? ” 

And apparently Sidonia agreed, for they were 
presently settled in a County Council Building in 
Westminster, with the little gods safely estab- 
lished, and Sidonia in her glass cozy enough in the 
tiny living-room, between the fireside and the door. 
As for the view, it was nearly as fine in its way 
as that from the old studio at Montmartre : a grey 
web of roofs, with chimney-pots like monstrous in- 
sects marching away to the Great Blue Spider, 
which was the dome of St. Paul’s, and near at hand 
the towers and pinnacles of Westminster and the 
tawny, barge-laden Thames. 

The superintendent of the building had looked 
30 


3i 


\ 

THE COMING OF PIP 

at her somewhat doubtfully : “ We can’t take any 

one, mum, that could afford to pay more.” 

“ I have just twenty -two shillings a week,” said 
she; and indeed her annuity, increased as it was 
by the proceeds of the sale, worked out to that. 

“ And what do you do, mum ? I am bound to 
ask,” he continued civilly. 

“ I work in clay,” said she. 

“A potter-like?” And on that term he ac- 
cepted her. 

The day she moved in, every woman living round 
the court, and a few more, made a point of having 
business that required fresh air. They decided 
without difference of opinion that she was “ gentry 
come down from one o’ them Settlements,” and 
agreed without words to treat her accordingly. 
But there was no impertinence except from a huzzy 
in Milton Buildings, who had had a drop more than 
she needed, and who asked the new tenant where 
she belonged and what she were a-doin’ of there. 

“ I don’t know,” the stranger had answered 
pleasantly, “where I belong; I’m trying to find out. 
And as for doing , I’m going to earn my living if I 
can.” 

By this the House concluded reasonably that 
this process was new to her experience. 

Meanwhile, she was too occupied in fitting up her 
four little rooms to her liking, to give much heed 
at first to the haughty reserve of her neighbours. 

She began with great pailfuls of coloured washes, 


32 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


and re-did the walls: blue for the workroom be- 
cause it was hopeful, yellow for the bedroom be- 
cause it was cheerful, and green for the living- 
room because it was restful. The second bedroom 
she packed full of things that she could not use 
and would not sell. 

Toller vey, the carpenter, from the second stair- 
way, whom she called in to help, had wonderful 
tales to tell of her doing and her devices. He swore 
that her dining-table was a loose board on trestles, 
with a bench behind it; and very probably he was 
right. He declared that her bed was a kind of 
piano-box tipped up on one side, which she called 
her Shell, looking upon herself, in a way of speak- 
ing, as some sort of cockle or ’winkle, or what you 
like ; and that every blessed thing in the place was no 
better — which, when you come to look at it proper, 
was somethink else. He told also about the ex- 
traordinary carpets, which he could not describe as 
Javanese matting, about the plaster figures set 
wherever you might turn your eyes, about the 
dresser full of job lots of china, about the pic- 
tures of Judgment and Kingdom-Come that were 
enough to make a man’s hair stand on end when he 
studied them. The whole place was fair heathen- 
ish, he said. Tollervey, you see, is a man of lim- 
ited ideas, though a decent workman who might 
make something of himself if kept from his wages 
on Saturday night. However, the House put suf- 
ficient confidence in his opinion to deepen and 


THE COMING OF PIP 


33 


heighten its hauteur and cool reserve; and Renee 
might have lived there forever without knowing a 
soul, if Pip had not come. 

It happened on a Saturday night, of course. 
Mrs. Lemon did not feel well enough to under- 
take her Sunday shopping; but at the same time, 
she admitted that she would like to “ set tooth in 
a bit o’ rabbit,” if Alf could be trusted with the 
money to buy it. 

For all his growling that gentleman was not over- 
successful. He did indeed make a good bargain; 
but on the way home could not get past the Setting 
Sun, and sat there on a bench, talking over the state 
of the country until half after twelve Sunday 
morning. 

When at last he crawled up his own stairway, 
the rabbit dangling by its tail from between his 
teeth, because he needed his hands for other pur- 
poses, he was struck silly by the sudden appear- 
ance of the “ furriner ” with a candle in her hand 
(the lights were out long since). “ You just stay 
where you are,” said she, “ until I come and say 
when ” 

He was so astonished that he sat down as well 
as he could, on the top step ; and she fluttered away, 
leaving him the candle. But when a moment later, 
he began to sing mournfully, “ Will you be my 
Valentine? ” she was out upon him again, so swiftly 
that he left the word hanging in mid-air. 

“ Look here,” she said, “ you be still, or you’ll 


34 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


have the doctor after you ! Smoke a pipe and skin 
your rabbit — there’s a dear ! ” And she actually 
lighted a match for him ! This tale told later by the 
stupefied Lemon did something towards breaking 
the ice between Renee and her neighbours. 

But it was Pip that formed the real link. It 
seems that early that evening, Mrs. Tudor, kept at 
home by a pair of teething twins, was the first to 
see how it was with Mrs. Lemon, and was con- 
strained to ask the “ furriner,” as being better than 
nobody at all, to come down and show that she 
was a woman. 

Mrs. Tudor’s mind must have been on her Sun- 
day dinner when she puffed up the stairs, for she 
afterwards said how that she had found the la'idy 
sitting over a spoonful of coals, looking as sad as 
if she never expected to see a joint of pork 
again. 

However, as soon as she was told what was 
forward, she jumped up and clapped her hands, 
and insisted on bringing down a great blue bowl 
(priceless old Wedgewood, if you please!) to wash 
the baby in. And she proved herself to be as 
handy as you like, which was somethink wonderful, 
considering her lack of experience, and she a fur- 
riner as well . . . 

Certain it is, that she kept the Tudor twins 
quiet, one under each arm, with a kind of dance- 
song that Mrs. Tudor would have considered heath- 
enish, if she had had time to look and listen. 


THE COMING OF PIP 


35 


Later, when Pip had successfully found himself, 
and was brought up to show what a good job he 
had made of it, he and the “ furrin-la'idy ” looked 
at each other as knowing-like as if they had been 
friends from the beginning of the world; and she 
fell on her knees to worship him with a string of 
gibberish that made Mrs. Tudor swell all over and 
be thankful she was born in Britain. Still, when 
she told the story afterwards, all the House and 
Milton across the way, and even Bunyan down the 
court, agreed that the potter-lady must have a heart 
in her after all, and thawed accordingly. 

Well, Pip became her nurseling from the mo- 
ment that she bathed him in her old Wedgewood 
bowl ; and she taught him daily to splash like a duck- 
ling. Mrs. Lemon protested to Mrs. Tudor that 
this was all very well but you didn’t help childer 
none with too much water, which, moreover, 
it was a shime to wash so much good stuff away. 
But she got small sympathy, for when she added 
that she were that tired and weakly-like after she’d 
had a bath, Mrs. Tudor remarked curtly, though 
seemingly not quite to the point : “ When I ta'ikes 

a bath, I lets people see it by the look o’ me faice; 
but as for her a-washin’ of your baiby, you’d better 
go along and buy the soap instead of snifflin’ over 
your woes at me! ” 

Defeated on the bath question, Mrs. Lemon, who 
was a good soul at heart, though feeble, offered 
less resistance to the sterilization of the milk and 


36 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


the frequent cleansing of the bottle; and in the mat- 
ter of fresh air, she said only to Alf that she hoped 
it wouldn’t send the child into a decline. 

So Renee had a toy for all her play-hours; and 
she danced and lulled and cuddled and sang to the 
baby, to the great easing of her heart; and every 
possible day she took him out in the trim little 
“ pram ” that she gave the parents as a bribe to per- 
mit her attentions. And finally, she named him Pip, 
and he, as soon as he was promoted to speech, de- 
creed that she should be Petty-Zon. 

Lemon, in fact, was bent upon calling him 
Orange , being a great stickler, especially when in 
his cups, for things to fit together. He even gave 
his wife “ one to go on with, stright in the h’eye,” 
because her family affection had suggested calling 
him Philip after her uncle, a thriving fishmonger 
in the Old Kent Road. Renee happened to be away 
for several days, doing a commission for casts of 
hands, and during her absence, not even the curate 
had been able to keep the parents from blows and 
tears over the matter. (She settled the difficulty 
promptly enough: “Philip Orange Lemon , of 
course; and call him Pip for short” — which satis- 
fied everybody. 

Now it seems that from the first Renee had ad- 
dressed the youngster as her “ petit jou-jou ” ; and 
he, learning to babble, gave her back at first a zou 
and then a petty, until by degrees she recovered one 
of her dear old Paris-names, the one Uncle Ben 


THE COMING OF PIP 


37 


had loved most. Thereafter in her little nest in the 
heart of grey London, she began to be “ Miss Petty- 
Zou,” and through the little boy who had brought 
her again in close touch with humanity, she made 
friends by ones and by twos all over the court and 
even down the street. 

In the course of three years or thereabouts, they 
almost forgot that she was a laidy — never quite; 
and more and more they bound up her life with 
their own struggles and sorrows and joys. And 
she thought that she was well content with this and 
hoped for nothing different; but all the while there 
was a voice in her heart — a beggar that cried in- 
sistently for alms that she could not give. 

“ Sidonia,” she said to the Magic Mirror one 
day, “ we are happier than we expected to be, aren’t 
we? Well, why can’t you be good? You can’t ex- 
pect anything else to happen — not at your age ! ” 


CHAPTER V 


THE ZOO-PARTY 

And yet change came, as it often does, almost un- 
heralded. The first hint of other things came at a 
zoo-party on a Wednesday night, when Petty-Zou, 
as was her custom once a week, was keeping open 
house for all the youngsters who would otherwise 
be loose on the streets. 

On this occasion the preparations were unusu- 
ally elaborate, because a zoo-party is more danger- 
ous to a place than some other kinds. So Petty- 
Zou, looking very like a child herself in her big 
blue pinafore with her yellow fluff of hair, climbed 
up on her dresser and tucked the little gods away 
in rows on the topmost shelf, whence they might 
look down with derision on their serene little faces 
at the antics below. There were: elephant-nosed 
Ganesha, Lakshmi in beaten copper, red-girdled, 
alabaster Kali, silver Buddhas and gold Buddhas, 
blue Isis, Mercury in corroded bronze, yellow ivory 
St. Christopher, wooden Madonnas, painted and un- 
painted, and a great Olympian array in terra-cotta, 
marble and stone. 

All the while, she could hear her guests outside, 
hopping on the landing, tiptoeing up and down 
38 


THE ZOO-PARTY 


39 


the steps, sidling and whispering and hanging over 
railings, she knew, until she should open the door. 
Then they would swirl in, crop-heads and pig-tails 
tangled together, and little Pip Lemon floating 
among them as helpless as a bit of the ancestral 
peel. 

McCallahans — they seemed to be all McCalla- 
hans! However many you counted, there was al- 
ways one more. Petty-Zou was wise and early 
gave up counting. But she always knew them by 
the polish and smell of the Sunlight Soap upon 
them. Their mother, being a clean woman by pro- 
fession, washing her way daily in and out of a 
nest of offices in the city, ruthlessly baths them 
every Saturday night, two by two, in a little tin tub 
by the kitchen fire; and she even gives them an 
extra lick and a glaze when a party is on. 

This Wednesday evening early in November, the 
McCallahans were glossier than usual. Marion 
Boocock came, very fine and stately in a cut-down 
purple velveteen of her married sister’s and a bor- 
rowed, be feathered hat. The Tudor twins looked 
very trim in plaid home-mades, and Rose-Mary 
brought Charles-Augustus, who was always ready 
to partake of whatever might be going. The 
Jakeses were as respectable as possible, with their 
stockings pulled up and a handkerchief to use be- 
tween them. There was Pip, looking, as he was, 
the sweetest thing in the House, in tiny garments 
of blue serge made out of an old skirt of Petty- 


40 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


Zou’s; and last of all came poor Danny Wale, clad 
only in small “ trousies ” and the Union Jack. 
Pressed in regard to his shirt, he averred, whim- 
pering : “ Muvver’s washed it and didn’t dry it 

yet ” — by which it was clear to everyone that his 
old woman had been at it again. 

As the first step to a successful party, Charles- 
Augustus was tied into a willow chair, with a sticky 
bun to replace his rubber “ comforter,” and dubbed 
the Baby Elephant. Then they all took names to 
themselves, having been to Regent’s Park many a 
time under Petty-Zou’s guidance. They said that 
she must be the lion because she had right-coloured 
hair for the name; and they let Rose-Mary be the 
keeper, because they knew she couldn’t do without 
something to scold and knock about. And then the 
zoo began in good earnest, with more kinds of noises 
than you could ever have believed. 

When the lion was hoarse with roaring and still 
was outsqualled by a horrible Bengal-McCallahan- 
tiger and twin Jakes-hyenas, and when every animal 
had done its tricks — and a little more — the King 
of Beasts stood up and shook the tawny hair out 
of her eyes and suggested to the keeper, now very 
warm and moist with responsibility, that it was 
feeding-time, and it might be well to take a look 
round the pantry. So while the animals sat in 
rows, very still except that one said “ Ow ! ” now 
and again, when another tickled it or sat on its toes, 
the keeper brought forth Bath buns and Chelsea 


THE ZOO-PARTY 


4i 


buns, Banbury cakes and Chester cakes and partlet 
and Melton Mowbray pies, apples and oranges and 
toffy and lollypops and gilt-edged crackers; and the 
lion forgot she was a lion, and stood up to pour milk 
into mugs, from which the menagerie drank by 
turns. 

Meanwhile, the Baby Elephant, who, his bun fin- 
ished long since, had been patiently sucking empty 
air through his comforter, in the hope that some- 
thing more substantial might follow, now lifted his 
voice in shrill complaint. 

The look of long-suffering motherhood returned 
to Rose-Mary’s face; but Petty-Zou was too quick 
for her, catching up the infant and tossing him in 
the air until he gurgled with joy and kicked out 
his pink flannelette petticoats in a manner unworthy 
of the dignity of his constabulary father. 

Absorbed and breathless, Petty-Zou did not hear 
a knock at the door, nor see a McCallahan open it, 
nor observe the startling effect upon the animals of 
the visitor who was admitted. The Bengal-McCal- 
lahan-tiger brushed the crumbs from his knees, the 
Boocock-cockatoo assumed her feathery hat, one 
Jakes-hyena borrowed the handkerchief from the 
other; the Polar-Wale-bear rolled away out of 
sight under the window-seat, while the Pip-serpent, 
which had been kicking its heels on the floor, as it 
wriggled its way into the heart of an orange, and 
was very moist and yellow about the cheeks, re- 
membered its manners as it scrambled up, and at- 


42 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


tempted a military salute. “ Good evenin', 
m’lord,” said the snake, with a sweet shrillness 
that pierced the sudden-dropping silence. 

You, I doubt not, would have been embarrassed 
if a lord of your acquaintance had dropped in and 
found you in the thick of a zoo-party, with a mane 
of yellow hair about your face; but Petty-Zou 
scarcely turned a shade pinker as she carefully 
lowered the Baby Elephant into his chair, and gave 
him a peppermint-stick to suck. 

“ Good-evening,” she said sweetly. “ Come in, 
if you can, and sit down.” 

“ What d’ye call it ? ” asked Lord Wharton, ad- 
justing his eye-glasses. 

“ I call it a zoo. The Trick Lion has just been 
performing with the Baby Elephant. What ani- 
mal would you like to be ? ” 

He considered this a moment, then reached out 
a hand and plucked down a McCallahan-monkey 
swarming perilously near the little gods, and said: 
“ A giraffe seems to be needed ; and he’s about my 
build. Feeding-time? No, thanks” — he gazed 
pensively at the rock-cake which Rose-Mary offered 
as alternative to a fleecy rice-bun — “ I’ve got to 
mind my digestion. With your permission, I’ll just 
take myself off to a corner and munch a palm- 
leaf.” 

To the delight of the other animals, the “ palm- 
leaf ” proved to be a cigarette that he drew from 
a real-gold box; and he himself seemed to like the 


THE ZOO-PARTY 


43 


game, for “ his eyes twinkled all over the scene,” 
as Rose-Mary afterwards told her mother. 

But presently “ the party ” lulled of itself, being 
somewhat constrained by the presence of a live 
lord, even when viewed as a giraffe chewing palm- 
leaves; and presently it broke up of itself, without 
hint of any sort from Petty-Zou. Rose-Mary led 
the way with Charles-Augustus fast asleep in her 
arms, close behind her the Tudor twins marching 
in good order, likewise the Jakeses with the ex- 
ception of a single stocking; then the McCallahans 
went solid, Danny Wale under cover with them, 
but Marion Boocock lingered rather, walking slow 
and stately, with her head cocked to the best ad- 
vantage of the borrowed hat. 

Just as the Lion was closing the door, the Giraffe 
pointed to a mysterious object in the far corner 
of the room — something that stood on its right leg 
with its left heel in the palm of its right hand, 
and its right ear between the fingers of its left 
hand, in which constrained attitude it was en- 
deavoring with its teeth to pick up its cap from 
the floor. 

“ IPs only Pip,” she explained, “ waiting for his 
good-night kiss and ashamed to ask for it.” 

This ceremony duly performed, the young 
Lemon was hypnotized by the flash of a silver 
coin in the visitor’s hand. 

“ Don’t ! ” cried Petty-Zou. “ That’s pauperiz- 
ing them ! ” 


44 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


But the grey gentleman with the eye-glasses only 
smiled: “Then I pauperize my nephews and 
nieces.” 

“ That’s different,” she objected. “ That’s 
treats ! ” 

“ But mayn’t Pip have treats ? ” 

“Farden treats,” says she very tenderly, with 
kisses two or three, “ or even — sometimes — ha’- 
penny treats. Not more ! ” 

And while Pip wondered what it all meant, and 
his lordship fumbled in vain for coppers, she drew 
forth from her pinafore-pocket a narrow, flat 
purse, which was found to contain two farthings. 
These bestowed, Pip departed, with a sudden little 
dimple in each cheek ; and the Lion closed the door. 


CHAPTER VI 


REASONS AND REASONS 

She came straight to the point as she returned 
to the fireside where the visitor stood: “You will 
think me quite mad, Lord Wharton.” 

His answer was irrelevant : “ May I sit down, 
or are you going to be busy ? ” 

“ I always save Wednesdays for the children. 
It’s their great treat — and mine. No, I’m not 
busy.” 

He brought her an arm-chair, made himself 
comfortable on the settle that hid a coal-box, and 
got out his cigarette-case again. “ So that’s it, 
is it? Now I’m happy. May I? And will 
you ? ” 

She shook her head, with an absent smile, as 
she tried to find an explanation that satisfied her: 
“ I know it looks queer ; but I was such a lonely 
little girl until I was older than these — and I 
never had any other children to play with. So I’m 
making up now.” 

“ Ah ? ” said he, looking at her critically through 
the haze of smoke he had created. “ It’s difficult 
to believe you anything above ten now, swinging 
45 


46 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


your foot, in that pinafore, with your hair all 
about your face . . . ” 

“ Oh, dear, deary!” says she, very red, as she 
remembered. “ And Eve only three hair-pins in 
the world, and I don’t know where I put them ! ” 

“ Plait it,” he suggested ; but she went into her 
bedroom, and came back with it somehow knotted 
and tied, Greek-fashion, in a black velvet fillet. 

“ Now,” said he, “ you’re quite a grown-up 
young woman — Psyche, perhaps. That will an- 
swer very well.” 

“ Oh, please ” — she entreated, with outstretched 
hands. “ I’m repenting about that cigarette ! I 
do want one! I always smoked with Uncle Ben, 
you know, when we worked or played together.” 

“ I hope you will sometimes honour me as a 
poor substitute,” he said, offering his box. 

“ This once,” she said. “ I’m always meaning 
to break off ; but when I’m especially dull or 
tired . . 

There was a silence as he struck a match and 
gave her a light ; then he said : “ It’s a strange 
thing that you should ever come to be dull or 
tired — almost as strange as that you should be 
living in this place.” 

This was so direct a challenge that she felt 
bound to answer : “ When one is poor, one lives 
as one can; and between a shabby-genteel lodging- 
house and a gay little flat where one’s neighbours 
are friends, I couldn’t hesitate a moment. As for 


REASONS AND REASONS 


47 


being dull and tired — well, to be sure, I began 
life with plain boiled potatoes, but then I had cakes 
and ale for many years, and now I have only just 
come to the bread and bacon of honest daily toil.” 

“ With all the beggars in town growing fat at 
your table — eh, what ? Let me see — how many 
years have I known you ? ” 

“ More than three,” she answered. 

“ Really?” 

“ I think so,” she said demurely, “ though the 
first year we didn’t get much beyond that squabble 
over the Cupid” 

He laughed at a sudden memory : “ I haven’t for- 
given you yet. To have my cheque repeatedly 
thrown in my face; and at last, when I refused the 
statue outright on any other terms, to have the 
money turned over bodily to Dr. Barnardo’s Homes, 
and to be asked to post the letter — that was the 
crowning insult ! ” 

“ No, that was a compliment,” she said. “ I 
trusted you, you see. And when it was you who 
got me all the orders I had at first, beginning with 
the Countess; and you wouldn’t take even a wee, 
small tribute of gratitude . . .” 

“ Which I had previously ordered myself. 
We’d better stop at once, or we shall be quarrelling 
again. . . . Speaking of Alicia, she wants to 

know if you’d come to dinner next Thursday, if 
you got an invitation? I said I didn’t mind look- 
ing in on my way to the House to ask you.” 


48 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


1 “ Oh ! ” said she, but did not utter her thought 

that he had come a long distance round from Parlia- 
ment Square. 

“ They’re to be chiefly artists and critics and so 
on. She thought it might be a good thing for 
you — professionally. Will you come ? ” 

“ I might ” — she began doubtfully, then stopped 
with an abrupt, “ O Lord ! ” and grew pink to the 
ears. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” 

“ Nothing. I’ve just remembered something. 
Tell her I’m sorry but I can’t.” 

He looked disappointed, watching her in silence 
and clearly waiting for her to make excuses; but 
none came. Finally, he gave his short laugh and 
said : “ Do unbend a little. It’s funny to see a 
person smoking primly.” 

“ I’m not bent,” she said, sitting more erect than 
before. 

“ Not in your spine, certainly,” said he, “ but as 
to your soul, you’re sadly warped.” 

“ Why ? ” she asked, suddenly alert. 

He seemed to find explanation difficult : “ There’s 
nobody else like you, you know.” 

She challenged him: “Well, do you mind?” 

He smoked a while before he answered slowly: 
“In some ways I do — very much. You see — 
you’re — you’re not an easy person to tackle.” 

“ Then don’t tackle me,” she observed cheer- 
fully. “ I do very well as I am.” 


REASONS AND REASONS 


49 


“ But I don’t ! ” he complained. 

“ What’s the matter with you ? ” she asked 
naively. 

He did not explain in words, but his expres- 
sion and gesture indicated that something was very 
wrong indeed. 

“ In that case, you’d better 4 tackle ’ me, as you 
put it; perhaps we can find out between us where 
the trouble lies.” 

“ Has it ever occurred to you,” he asked then, 
“ how I could know you for three years without 
asking you to marry me ? ” 

She started and dropped her half-smoked cigar- 
ette on the fender; but when she spoke, she was 
composed enough : “ No — or at least, it was be- 
cause I never would let you.” 

“Then you saw through me all the time?” he 
asked, with frank amazement. 

“ Not exactly. But ... I didn’t mean to 
take any chances.” 

“ Why not?” he asked. 

“ Because — oh, we are too old for that sort of 
thing.” 

“ Bless me ! Is love on tap and turned off with 
the coming of wrinkles and grey hair?” he urged. 

“ Oh, no,” said she, clasping her little hands 
and staring into the fire. “ But it isn’t exactly a 
question of love — ” 

“Of what then?” he demanded. 

She looked at him with sudden saucy laughter: 


50 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ Of a dozen other things : family, nerves, 
position, suitability, age, merits, inclinations, 
habits . . ” 

“ Good Lord ! ” said he. “ Do stop ! ” 

“ Well, I’ve named enough objections, I think,” 
she said. 

He had been holding his cigarette until it burned 
his hand, and now threw it away. “ To my mind, 
there is only one that counts. If you cared tuppence 
for me — ” 

“ I do,” she said. “ Fourpence, at least.” 

He shook his head at her : “ When you look at 
me like that, I seem to think that you’re a terrible 
flirt, Petty-Zou .” 

It was the first time he had ever called her by 
this name, and she wished to be angry, but suc- 
ceeded only in looking very shy and trying to 
laugh away her embarrassment : “ I ? At my 
age?” 

“You — at any age! It was born in you, and 
it won’t die while you have an eye to twinkle 
with.” 

“ That naughty Sidonia ! ” said she, shaking her 
head very solemnly and as if she spoke of another 
person altogether. 

“Tell me about her,” he said, his eyes kindling; 
and he had seized both her hands before she 
dreamed that he would dare. 

“ Not this way,” she answered, trying to with- 
draw them. 


REASONS AND REASONS 51 

“ Just this way/’ he insisted, and held them fast. 
“ Now argue with me.” 

“ I thought you wanted to hear about Sido- 
nia? ” 

“ I’d rather have a straightforward, logical rea- 
son why you won’t have me. Is that Sidonia’s 
fault ? ” 

“ No,” she confessed, “ I think she is wicked 
enough to incline to it if I would let her. It’s the 
other Me that won’t.” 

“ It’s only fair,” he insisted, “ to tell me why 
and let me say what I can.” 

“If you must ” — she conceded, a little wearily. 
“What would your sister say ? ” 

“ Leave her to me.” 

“ Well — but your friends — ” 

“ Do you care more than fourpence for them ? ” 

“ No — but there are other reasons.” 

“ Name one — a good, strong, sound, unanswer- 
able reason.” 

“ I can’t . . . oh, we’re all different — 

you and I! You’ve always walked in the beaten 
path of respectability, and looked over your little 
fences of class distinctions at the rest of the 
world — ” 

“ And what do you mean by that ? ” he asked 
fiercely. 

“ Please let me go. I shall be seriously angry 
in a moment,” she said ; and he took warning. 

Released, she looked up at him, twinkling with 


52 ,THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


naughtiness : “ Well, you know you have a title and 
all that — ” 

“ What difference does that make ? I can’t help it. 
It isn’t my fault, is it? ” he said, still very fierce. 

“ Not your fault, and yet, and yet . . . Oh, 

you think by classes — you can’t help it — and you 
would try to make me the same, and we should both 
be unhappy. And I’ve been a wandering gipsy all 
these years. Life’s a fairy tale to me, and you sit 
in Parliament! ... It would never do in the 
world ! ” 

He was silent until she began to think that she 
had convinced him; and then he observed slowly: 
“And do you think you have found your proper 
place here? ” 

“ I love my neighbours,” she evaded him, “ for all 
their faults; and for all my faults, I believe they 
love me. But you could never understand. You’ve 
no idea how we poor folk need one another ! ” 

He caught her up rather sardonically : “ Am I to 
believe then that if I got drunk once a week, and 
swore and bullied everybody that wasn’t strong 
enough to beat me, and neglected to wash and shave, 
and developed some unpleasant disease, that you 
would feel more at home with me? ” 

“ As I told you before, I do — I like you, but not 
enough to overpower my sense of the fitness of 
things. I can’t see you living in this house and 
meeting Jakes or Boocock as man to man! And 
there’s old Seascale on the ground-floor who used 


REASONS AND REASONS 


53 


to be an attendant at the British Museum, and who 
spends all his spare pennies at book stalls. He has 
a natural taste for science and reads medical books 
all day long ; but you wouldn’t think any the better 
of him for that. No — you belong in your groove, 
and I run very well without any groove, and there’s 
an end of the matter! ” 

“ You don’t mind skinning a chap ! ” he remarked, 
with feeling. 

She looked at him with grave consideration : “ I 
don’t believe — really — it would ever come off — 
your class-skin, you know.” 

“ Oh, I say ! ” he pleaded, turning as red as any 
school-boy. 

“ I’m sorry,” she said, rather penitently. “ I 
didn’t mean to hurt you, but we should never agree, 
you know — not till Doomsday ! ” 

He looked puzzled as well as hurt; and some 
while after, observed with a sigh : “ I must be get- 
ting to the House. The Education Bill is on to- 
night. But — after all, Petty Zou, there isn’t much 
in what you say.” 

She seemed to nerve herself for a desperate ef- 
fort : “ If I must be horrid — I told Uncle Ben that 
I would never marry any man that wasn’t as nice as 
he was — ” 

“ Good-night,” said he, and was off. 


CHAPTER VII 


INDIAN SUMMER 

It is a fact not altogether without significance 
that she sat very still until the echo of his foot- 
steps on the stone stairs had died away to silence; 
then she looked into the little Magic Mirror and 
said: “Sister, what do you think? For, of course, 
I didn’t give him the true reason at all ! ” 

Then Sidonia in the glass threw aside all decency, 
and began to trip it up and down on the hearth- 
rug, in the firelight, to the tune of “ Hares on the 
Mountain.” 

Tyrrhena tried to look at her severely but with- 
out a great deal of success: “Hares? Hares, in- 
deed! The March hare anyway, and that’s your- 
self! Sit down, you Aged Body, you Wrinkled 
Crone, you Antiquity, and ask yourself like the 
decent old lady you sometimes are, how anybody 
could ever manage to fall in love with you now! ” 

“ There have been old women — ” began Sidonia, 
with a saucy curtsey, and then she went on incon- 
sequently : “ But I’m not so very old . . . Be- 
sides it’s nice to be old . . 

“ You were born in the year — ” began Tyrrhena, 
in a voice like a trumpet of doom. 

54 


INDIAN SUMMER 


55 

But it died away and gave place to an exquisite 
singing : “ Blow away the morning dew . . 

“Yes,” sighed Tyrrhena. “ Blow it away. 
High time — it's evening now.” 

She held her hands to the blaze, as if a sudden 
chill had invaded the room. Through the open 
window, Big Ben slowly boomed the hour of nine 
. . . Doubtless the Education Bill was in full 

swing. 

“Fifteen — ten — five years ago,” said Tyr- 
rhena very sorrowfully, “ it mightn't have been too 
late. Now — ” 

The sentence ended in a sob as Tyrrhena and 
Sidonia broke down together, and for a while there 
was no sound in the room save the occasional click 
and spit of the fire. 

Then, I am afraid, Sidonia used rather plain 
speech : “ You needn’t go without the pudding be- 
cause you’re late for dinner.” 

But Tyrrhena promptly reprimanded her : “ Don’t 
be vulgar, Sidonia ! ” 

Whereupon Sidonia urged a timid little plea: 
“ But I think he really cares — ” 

Then they both hid their faces, and from between 
two sets of fingers came a shamefaced: “And so 
do you, my dear, so do you ! ” Which of them 
said it neither knew ; but it was Sidonia who 
added wistfully: “ I think that ought to be enough.” 
And it was Tyrrhena who would not listen to such 
weakness : “ My dear, you know that is not enough, 


56 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


or the half! You know that when — anybody 
cares about — anybody else, the really and only im- 
portant thing is the other person’s happiness; and if 
it is better for — him that you should say no, why 
then — ” 

The conclusion was so obvious that she left 
Sidonia to draw it for herself. 

And yet the naughty one would not be quashed. 
“ As for the Countess — ” she began to argue ; and 
Tyrrhena admitted that this lady alone would not 
have been a sufficient barrier. “ No,” supplemented 
Sidonia, “ I was about to observe ‘ Blow the Count- 
ess ’ — ” 

“ Hsh,” interrupted Tyrrhena. “ Now you are 
vulgar again. It must be that pirate up in our 
family tree. He’s a useful ancestor; you can put 
all your naughtinesses upon him ! ” 

The little woman in the glass stared hard at her 
companion by the fireside, and both were very still 
for a time. 

Then Sidonia piped up timidly : “ Speaking of 
family, we’re supposed, you know, to have an an- 
cestor who crossed over in the Mayflower — ” 

“ You couldn’t kill a fly on the evidence we have 
for the Mayflower ” was Tyrrhena’s stern admo- 
nition. 

“ Well, even if . . . there’s Miles Coverdale 

who translated the Bible — you can’t get over him; 
and he was respectable, I guess ! ” 

“ But we are not sure — ” 


INDIAN SUMMER 


57 


“ Why, father used to say that if we weren’t 
descended from him, he didn’t know where on 
earth we had come from.” 

“ Granting that,” said Tyrrhena, “ it isn’t 
exactly the sort of genealogy you would set over 
against a baron’s — ” 

Then Sidonia grew red and hot and furious: 
“ Baron’s? Baron’s, indeed! You know very well 
that the old line of the Whartons died out less 
than two centuries ago; and that the present race 
are merely usurpers who stole the title with the 
land . . . He told you so himself, didn’t he? 

Or something very like it ? ” 

“ I’ve argued with you until I’m tired,” said 
Tyrrhena plaintively, “ and you never know when 
you’re done for. And if there must be plain speech 
between us, why, I’ll out with it and have done. 
It doesn’t matter about family or wealth or posi- 
tion or work or living here or there, or even so 
much about habits and character — love might 
change all that — but the real thing that counts 
more than anything else is that, as I’m an honest 
woman, I have no right to keep him from the joy 
of having children of his own. And if I had ever 
any doubt, the way he looked at my poor little slum- 
kiddies here to-night was more than enough to 
sweep it away. Oh, dear, deary! I’ve been play- 
ing around the world a long, long time and had 
more happy days than most people can count; and 
if I’ve waited so long for the best thing of all, 


58 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


that when it comes, it’s too late — well, I needn’t 
for that reason keep him from it too. I must 
patch up my fortune as best I can; and he — surely, 
if I am very firm — he will find — some one else — 
to make him happy . . 

If Sidonia would have argued again, she was 
promptly subdued by a severe : “ If you say another 
word, I shall know you are a pig ! ” 

And after a time when they were both quiet 
together, Sidonia looked out with her old smile: 
“ Anyway, we get through the days — somehow — 
pretty well, my dear ! ” She even broke into song 
— a quaint old Flemish-French spring song — to 
show that she defied her Puritan sister to quench 
in her the joie de vivre that she had inherited with 
her naughtiness from her piratical ancestor : 

“ Qu’avons la saison si gaye, 

C’est le doucx air d’Avril — ” 

But Tyrrhena shivered and for once shut the 
window: “It’s November; and there will be frost 
to-night.” 

“You see?” said Sidonia, at once mocking and 
tender. “ I agree with you that we’re played out, 
my dear; but after all there’s such a thing as Indian 
Summer, so we may as well pipe on cheerfully.” 

But the refrain that echoed through the room — 
it was uncertain which of them uttered it — was 
sad enough : “ Oh, but after the Indian Summer, 
what then?” 


CHAPTER VIII 


TYRRHENA AND SIDONIA 

I really cannot think how a respectable peer — 
the son and grandson of respectable peers — in- 
stead of contributing his share of wisdom towards 
the production of an Education Bill, should have 
walked rapidly along the Thames Embankment 
until he came to the end of it at Blackfriars Bridge, 
and then straightway hailed a cab and driven 
back to his starting point. The plain fact is 
that he was reascending the steps of No. i stairway 
of Erasmus House, three at a time, at the unreason- 
able hour of nine-thirty or thereabouts. 

Petty-Zou opened her door, too amazed to ask 
him in, but he entered without permission and took 
his position on the hearth-rug like a man making his 
last stand. He forestalled anything she might have 
to say, with a quick : “ I know. It's unpardonable. 
But I had to come back. I couldn’t let it go on like 
that. I quite understand; you don’t care for me 
now — not more than fourpence anyway. But 
there’s no reason why you shouldn’t learn, is 
there ? ” 

“ Oh yes,” she breathed quickly. 

“ What reason ? ” he turned on her sharply. 

59 


6o THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


And this it was not easy to tell. She looked up 
at him pleadingly, and was silent. 

“ I recognize, of course, that I have no right to 
intrude, or press my point, or even to ask the ques- 
tion I have just asked. But if a man is refused a 
thing that he takes to heart as much as I do this, 
he is likely to want an explanation, at least. It 
seems only fair, doesn't it? ” 

“ Fair enough," she agreed. “ But — please 
don’t insist. I know that I am acting for the 
best—" 

“ In a case like this," he interrupted, “ there is 
only one best. If two people love each other — 
but that doesn’t fit us, does it ? However, my point 
is, that when the affection is very sincere on the 
one side, it may — in time — prevail against heavy 
odds. What do you think ? ” 

“ I don’t wish you to try — " she could not steady 
her voice. 

Then as he looked at her in perplexity, she added : 
“ Think me unjust, unreasonable, mad — what you 
like; only — please — please go away now and 
drop the subject into the Thames for ever and 
ever ! " 

“ I will go if you like," he said, but not offering 
to move. “ Only — I warn you — I shall not drop 
the subject into the Thames. I shall do my best to 
bring you round." 

“ Oh, no," she sighed, “ you mustn't — " 

She was interrupted by a shriek and a thud ; and 


TYRRHENA AND SIDONIA 61 

seeming to know whence the sounds came, flew at 
once to the workroom window, where a moment 
later, he found her among the plants, gazing intently 
across the court. 

“ It’s Sidcup, I think, trying to beat his wife; but 
Mrs. Tudor’s gone over and there won’t be much 
damage done. Yes, it’s all right this time,” she said 
with a sigh, turning to move back to the living- 
room. 

But he considered that the incident held oppor- 
tunity for him and blocked her way a moment, 
saying : “ Put yourself in my place and imagine 
how I feel, knowing you are among such sights and 
sounds ! ” 

She answered slowly : “ There are many things 
•worse. And I have had adventures all my life, 
you know.” 

“ Ah, but it’s one thing to have adventures as 
you have played the game; and another, to be shut 
up in a sordid slum like this ! ” 

“ There you are ! ” she cried despairingly. “ I 
told you you couldn’t understand. To you these 
people are all collectively * a slum ’ ; to me they are 
kind neighbours who saved me three years ago from 
the pit of despair. I was nearly crazy with loneli- 
ness when they made friends with me. And that is 
why I love them ! ” 

She moved impatiently, and he stepped aside to 
let her pass into the sitting-room. 

“ I’m not asking you to stop being fond of them,” 


62 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


he said, as he followed her, “ or to alter your point 
of view in any way; but I’d like to suggest that 
you would be in a position to do more for them 
from a little further off — more perspective, you 
know.” 

“You mean if I—?” 

“ Marry me. Yes — now you mention it — that 
was my thought.” 

Oh, he was a tease ! — Surely he must guess that 
the beggar in her heart was aching to say yes, all 
the while that her New England conscience was ut- 
tering no. It was the old, old warfare between 
Tyrrhena and Sidonia! 

She dropped on the settle, her face in her hands, 
and found herself gazing again into the little Magic 
Mirror. 

In the glass, she saw that he leaned over the back 
of the seat and took Sidonia’s hand; but it was 
Tyrrhena that was all a-tremble. 

“ It seems to me more and more that I almost 
persuade you, and I think I have won — and then 
I strike something hard.” 

“ That’s Tyrrhena,” she said, in a muffled voice. 

It was perhaps not strange that he failed to un- 
derstand. 

“ I mean, it’s — it’s only the other Me — Sidonia 
— that you almost persuade. Tyrrhena knows bet- 
ter.” 

“ Aha ! ” he exclaimed : “ I think I begin to see. 

Sidonia’s mine — and that’s half the battle; and 


TYRRHENA AND SIDONIA 63 

there’s only the other lady with her starched Puri- 
tan conscience, to go for.” , 

Naughty Sidonia laughed at him out of the Magic 
Mirror : “ But she’s a handful ! ” 

“ So I have discovered. But with you to help 
ine — ” 

Now this was growing too complicated altogeth- 
er; and besides he was coming much too near. 
Sidonia suddenly went out of the glass — or at least 
into the darkest corner of it, retreating from the 
wily blandishments of this insinuating man: “I’m 
not helping you — and you know it ! I hope I see 
my duty better ! ” 

“ There spoke Tyrrhena,” said he, between a sigh 
and a twinkle. “ Well, well, we must put up with 
her, Sidonia, and perhaps in time we shall educate 
her so that she is quite a nice person altogether ! ” 

It really seemed to her that patience could bear 
no more; patience is short-lived with an aching 
heart. “It’s no good ! ” she cried. “ You may talk 
and talk, but you don’t know! ” 

Out of her dark corner, Sidonia watched him 
standing in the full blaze of the firelight, tall and 
meditative, and never quite without the twinkle in 
his eye. “Of course,” he said, “ all things come 
to him who waits. I can always go on waiting.” 

She slipped with a hasty : “ The longer you 

wait, the worse it will be — ” 

He came dangerously near : “ Then I won’t waif 

at all!” 


64 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


Now it was Sidonia who seemed to be laughing 
at him from the glass ; but Tyrrhena leaned forward 
and said reproachfully: “Just consider a mo- 
ment, if you can, your life and mine. You went to 
school properly, Eton and Magdalen; you travelled 
like an English gentleman; you were taught how 
to manage estates and to sit on Boards ; you went in 
for hobbies — numismatics, archaeology and so on. 
I learned embroidery in a convent at Montmartre, 
clay-modelling in a studio and wandered about the 
world like a gipsy. It isn’t so strange if I have 
found my true level in what you call a slum. And 
now you come to see me on your way to St. 
Stephen’s — fancy it all ! It would be incredible 
in a romance! What is it that draws you to me 
here ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said he. “ The poets used to 
call it love. I suppose you think it tommy-rot.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Tyrrhena softly, unable to meet 
the wistful eyes of Sidonia in the glass. “ Far 
from that. On the other hand, it isn’t everything ! 
Do you know your Stevenson ? ‘ The world is so 

full of a number of things, I’m sure we should all 
be as happy as kings ’ ? Love — what is it ? 
There’s a great deal of talk about it; but I don’t 
know . . . perhaps when it’s the real thing; 

but that’s as rare as radium . . .” 

She paused and he took her up: “Time and 
suffering would say whether it is real, I suppose. 
Very well, I must be content with that. You must 


TYRRHENA AND SIDONIA 


65 


live as you will — and I as I can ; and if ever you 
change your mind — ” He stopped abruptly and 
began again: “ Meanwhile, you will not refuse me 
your friendship ? ” 

Tyrrhena looked very doubtful : “ I’m afraid 

— oh, why — why is it just myself you’ve taken 
a fancy to? ” 

“ No doubt there was a pirate as well as a thief 
among my ancestors,” said he, rather sadly, “ and 
that makes the link between us . . . But 

you’ve no right to deny me that much ♦ . 

And indeed at this point Sidonia absolutely re- 
fused to be good a moment longer. She smiled en- 
chantingly and held out her hand: “ No, we are 
both old enough and wise enough to be friends, I 
hope. Good night.” 

But when he was gone, Tyrrhena took Sidonia to 
task: “You little beggar — oh, you little beggar! 
Whatever in the world shall I do to keep you quiet ? 
And I must — for his sake ! ” 


CHAPTER IX 


AN AFFAIR OF BOILED RABBIT 

In matters of romance it is the morning after 
that counts. There is a certain satisfaction in cry- 
ing the heart out, which makes sorrow bearable, but 
the grey light of the next dawn brings no compen- 
sation; the fire of life is turned to ash, and the 
day’s work must be done by the cold hearth. 

Petty-Zou realized this when she crawled out of 
her inner Shell, alias her bed, alias a packing-case, 
on the morrow after the zoo-party. She put on a 
lavender kimono, gay with red roses and emerald 
birds of paradise, because she felt so very sad ; and 
she found her larder nearly bare, and in the letter- 
box a bill instead of a long-expected cheque. 

Whether she had cried herself to sleep the night 
before, I am not prepared to say; but this rude out- 
cropping of the problem of daily existence, renewed 
temptation and made her blink a little. 

However, as she dropped a penny into the slot 
of her baby gas-stove and put the kettle on, she 
evolved a degree of philosophy with which she 
greeted Mrs. Wale when that lady came up to get 
breakfast. “ When we can’t have what we want, 
we must want what we can have, O Mrs. Wale,” 
66 


AN AFFAIR OF BOILED RABBIT 67 


she began; whereupon that muddle-headed, thumb- 
fingered person was so surprised that she dropped 
a majolica bread-plate and broke it neatly into three 
large pieces. 

Petty-Zou bit her lip to keep in bad words, and 
only when the bacon was frizzling in the frying- 
pan and Mrs. Wale’s hands were empty, did she 
add : “ Philosophy seems to break things that 

tears can’t mend. When I can afford a bottle of 
sticky stuff, we’ll join those three pieces together and 
make them into an ornament for ever more, their 
days of usefulness being ended.” 

Over her bacon, she reflected : “ Eat well, my 

dear. This is the last bit of meat you may have 
until your cheque comes — unless Providence in- 
tervenes.” 

Providence did intervene, an hour later, while 
Mrs. Wale was washing up in the scullery ; and ap- 
peared in the bulky form of Mrs. Tudor carrying 
a rabbit: 

“ It’s one of four as my dad has up and sent me 
from the farm. Says I to Tudor, ‘ If we eats all 
them before they’re ’igh — I says to ’im — ‘we 
shall grow long-eared ourselves, believe me! ’ And 
I says as how maybe you’d relish such a thing, be- 
ing always that kind to us, not to speak of takin’ 
Charles-Augustus out for many a h’airin’. So ’ere 
you are, miss, and welcome, I’m sure ! ” 

She paused, breathless, and laid a roll of grey- 
brown fur on the table. 


68 .the beggar in the heart 


“ Thank you,” said Petty-Zou, stroking it softly. 
She had a mental picture of little Cotton-Tail, wrig- 
gling his nose ecstatically among the policeman’s 
father-in-law’s sprouts and cabbages. “ I’m sorry 
he’s shot,” she said, “ and it does seem a pity to 
skin him ! ” 

“ Lor’, miss,” said Providence-in-disguise, “ rab- 
bits was made to eat ! ” 

“ And I suppose I was made to eat them,” sighed 
Petty-Zou. “ And it is good of you; but how I 
shall skin it, I don’t know.” 

Thereupon Mrs. Tudor ventured, if it was not 
taking a liberty, to give instructions in the art, say- 
ing as she proceeded : “ There now, mum, you 

wouldn’t ’ardly know ’e weren’t a chicking. And 
mind, ’e will warm up beautiful. You can ’ot ’im 
up for a week if you likes.” 

Well, there was a week’s meat provided by neigh- 
bourly kindness ; and Petty-Zou worked all day long 
in clay and wax, with a little warm spot in her 
heart. 

But she was not minded to keep to herself the 
good gift of Providence. As often before, she said 
she should choke if she tried to eat alone, when 
anybody could be found to share her abundance. 

This night, accordingly, when she had cooked the 
dish herself — Mrs. Wale being presumably at the 
Setting Sun — and made plenty of parsley sauce, 
she turned her mind to possibilities in the way of 
guests. It seemed to her that the House was 


AN AFFAIR OF BOILED RABBIT 69 


strangely silent for the hour of trimming lamps and 
beginning to think what’s for supper. And Milton 
House across the court was dark and still. But 
when Petty-Zou looked out from the workroom win- 
dow and saw the Bridge festooned with coloured 
lights, she remembered that it would be the King’s 
birthday and that all the world would be abroad 
seeing illuminations. 

“ Well, the world has lost a rabbit supper there- 
by,” said she. “ But I’m not going to sit down 
alone while there are hungry folk about and I know 
where to find them ! ” 

She put on an old military cape that she loved 
because it had been Uncle Ben’s in the Civil War 
before ever he went abroad, and an old blue cap, 
encased her saucepan in a newspaper and hurried 
downstairs and towards the Embankment. This 
she judged would be a good hunting-ground, being 
on festive occasions deserted by all save those for- 
lorn among men. This was, you understand, before 
the days of the County Council trams. 

There she took her station, with her saucepan 
on the parapet, and chose her guests with care, 
passing by all that stepped out strongly against 
the wind, or unsteadily with curses or snatches of 
song, and feeding the limp shufflers who studied the 
pavements for cigarette-ends but looked never for 
such a thing as a fistful of boiled rabbit. 

She stretched it far, her Pot of Plenty; and when 
it was scraped nearly bare, she gave the saucepan 


70 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


itself to two wretched women, that they might 
carry it home and warm up the drop of gravy to 
lend savour to the crusts they had been collecting 
out of ash-bins. 

As she turned to walk homeward, feeling her- 
self a little faint and cold, she observed a man 
shivering as he huddled on a bench, his legs be- 
low the knee wrapped with old newspapers. 

“ I say,” she said, pausing before him; but had 
for answer only a strange, muffled, wheezy growl. 

She was frightened, therefore took a firmer stand 
and called more distinctly : 

“ I say — you — man ! What’s wrong ? ” 

The growl became fiercer, and the front of the 
creature’s buttoned-up coat heaved with strange con- 
tortions. 

Thoroughly alarmed, she seized him by the 
shoulder and shook him; whereupon he moved, 
coughed, and began to unbutton his coat. Imme- 
diately a shaggy, yellow- whiskered head was thrust 
out — a curious, canine replica of its master’s — 
and upon sight of Petty-Zou ceased growling. 
r “ You see 9 itn” mumbled the man. “ That’s 
Nick — Old Nick; but for ’im I shouldn’t a-been 
sittin’ ’ere now. And if you wants to know wot 
’e’s a-doin’ of there, I say ’e’s a-lendin’ me some 
of ’is ’eat, and wot’s more, ’e keeps the stummick 
down.” 

“ Hungry ? ” she asked. 

“TJngry?” he laughed. “ Lor’, no, we ain’t 


AN AFFAIR OF BOILED RABBIT 71 


’ungry; we’ve just come from dinin’ at the Savoy 
over there with the Lord Mayor and the Prince o’ 
Wiles. Look like it, don’t us? We’re takin’ Anti- 
Fat, Nick and me.” 

“ It’s a pity you weren’t on the move,” said 
Petty-Zou. “ Ten minutes ago, you might have 
had some of my boiled rabbit; but now what to do 
with you I don’t know, I’m sure. You can’t spend 
the night here. Have you tried to get into a Shel- 
ter ? ” Her gloveless fingers were stiff, and she 
shivered at the rattle of the dead leaves along the 
pavement. 

“ ’Ave us tried, Nick? ” — he looked down at the 
front of his coat, which he had again buttoned up 
as far as might be, and this wrinkled violently in 
reply. “ Or ’ave us not ? It ain’t the oakum-pick- 
ing as we carn’t stand, nor yet the soup-slop, but no 
dorgs allowed on the premises — eh, wot ? There’s 
better dodges nor that — eh ? ” 

A sigh — or a snore — was his answer. 

“ ’E’s forgot ’is troubles in sleep,” said the man. 
“ ’E ain’t so ’ungry as wot I am. ’E finds more.” 

“ But speaking of dodges ? ” hinted Petty-Zou. 

He shook his head as refusing to give himself 
away; but a furtive glance towards the parapet be- 
trayed him to her quick eyes: “ The river? Rub- 
bish! Well, if you were going to jump in, why 
didn't you when you had the chance? ” 

“ It were all along of ’im,” he complained, with 
evident reference to Nick. “ Wot yer goin’ to do 


72 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


with a purp as you carn’t get rid of? If I’d a-left 
’im a minute, ’e’d a stood up and yowled till ’e 
fetched a bobby, and then I’d a-been ’ad up for 
attemptin’ of me own life — worse luck!” 

This picture of Old Nick’s devotion completed 
Petty-Zou’s resolve: “ Well, I suppose you’d bet- 
ter come home with me, and I’ll find you a bite to 
eat, if it’s only tea and boiled potatoes; and then 
you can tell me how you happen to be down on 
your luck, and I’ll see what I can do.” 

The moon-face of Big Ben countenanced a 
strange little procession wending its way towards 
Palace Yard, about nine of the clock: a small 
woman in a military cape, and a slouching tramp 
with newspaper-leggings, who held his two hands 
about a curious protuberance in his front. 

One or two policemen showed signs of wishing 
to investigate; but Petty-Zou put the first off with 
a pleasant: “ It’s all right, Tudor. You know 
me; ” and the second with a more haughty : “ You 

go and ask P. C. Tudor; he knows.” 

To her charge she said: “ Why don’t you put 
him down? ” 

“ So I do when there ain’t too much light or 
too many bobbies about. A poor man like me 
carn’t always keep ’is license up to date. But the 
purp won’t leave me nohow.” 

They waited a moment to cross the street, for a 
cab that drew up before the peers’ entrance at the 
Houses of Parliament. For a second Petty-Zou 


AN AFFAIR OF BOILED RABBIT 73 


fancied that she recognized the face over the apron ; 
and although she afterwards believed herself mis- 
taken, the incident gave a turn to her thought: 
“Yes, my dear, yes. Suppose it had been! 
wouldn’t he have been pleased to see a future 
peeress of the realm doling out boiled rabbit 
presented by a policeman’s father-in-law, to a 
would-be-suicide with a yellow dog, on the Embank- 
ment? You know he would object, all the time, to 
your taking such people home to dinner? He 
wouldn’t like the risk of having the family plate en- 
graved with the Wharton coat-of-arms, put to such 
a use as that . . . But what would he do un- 

der such circumstances? Send the poor things to 
an institution? No, thanks, we do better as we 
are ! ” 

With a nod of defiance, directed at the world in 
general and a certain lord in particular, she turned 
into the courtyard between Erasmus House and its 
neighbours. 


CHAPTER X 


LARRY IS MADE A FOOL 

Mr. Lawrence O’Neill, known above the foot- 
lights as Audley Mortimer, lives across the land- 
ing from Petty-Zou, and loves her so well that 
young Eleanor Lane on the floor below, is tempted 
now and then to jealousy. The high-water mark 
of his devotion is shown when he comes in late 
after the play; for knowing that she is a light 
sleeper, he deliberately sits down on the stairway by 
the Tudors’ floor and removes his boots. And in 
winter the stone steps are cold. 

This evening, in the very act of unlacing, he 
gaped at the apparition on the landing above, of the 
lady herself with a candle. 

She flitted down, her finger on her lips, and whis- 
pered : “ Larry, I’ve been sitting up for ages, wait- 

ing for you ! Do you really love me?” 

“ Sure, grandmother colleen, it’s late in the day 
to have such a question hurled at a man’s head. 
What are you up to now ? ” 

“ You do, don’t you?” she coaxed. 

“ Of course ! I’d serve you to the last drop of 
me — 

“ It isn’t so bad as that,” said she. 

74 


LARRY IS MADE A FOOL 


75 


“ — whisky,” he tripped her up neatly. “That 
is to say, if I had any — which is a different thing 
altogether.” 

“ Oh, perhaps then I’d better not ” — she was 
clever enough to simulate retreat. 

“ Out with it ! ” he encouraged her. “ You know 
I’d perjure my lone soul rather than leave you in 
the lurch ! ” 

“Well — Bumpus is upstairs in my sitting-room, 
you know,” she confessed. 

“ Bumpus ? ” He assumed acquaintance with the 
person, as she clearly expected. “ And what doing, 
am I to ask ? ” 

“ Drinking tea. I left him with his seventh cup ; 
but the sugar has given out. And as for the baked 
potatoes — ” 

“Good appetite — eh? Would you mind telling 
me where I come in ? ” 

“ That’s it,” — she caught him. “ That’s the 
point. As you love me, you are going to take him 
in as a lodger to-night.” 

“Lodger, is it? Am I? Well, now!” 

“ Don’t worry,” said she. “ I’ll pay. And to- 
morrow we must get him some work.” 

He wagged his head reproachfully : “ Now, Pet- 

ty-Zou, you’ve been at it again ! It’s as bad as the 
drink — your charity habit . . . And where 

would I be putting the creature at all ? ” With ex- 
citement his brogue grew upon him. 

Her answer was unexpected : “ Creep upstairs 


76 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


— in your stocking feet — and have a look at him 
through the crack of the door. Then come back 
and turn him away — if you have the heart ! ” 

“ I shall probably find him pocketing little gods 
by the handful,” said he; and to escape reproach 
for this impolite suggestion, he began to steal up- 
stairs in his usual noiseless manner. 

As he came down, she greeted him with a soft: 
“.Well, and isn’t he a poor, starving brother? ” 

“ Whose brother?” — his face twinkled in the 
candle light. “ Yours or mine? ” 

“ Boths ,” she answered. “ And what did you 
think when you looked at him ? ” 

“ I had but a single thought,” confessed Larry. 
“ And it would go all into one word, by the Holy 
Biddy!” 

“ Now you’re going to be flippant,” she chid 
him. 

“ Heaven forbid ! It’s a serious matter. Shall I 
tell you ? ” She looked anxious but was silent, and 
he assumed consent : “ Fleas.” 

“ Horrid!” 

“The word or the fact? And yet you would 
throw your dutiful grandson into the jaws of such 
as them ? ” 

But she found him an answer. “ Do you sup- 
pose the Good Samaritan hesitated — for such a 
reason ? ” 

“ I’ve read somewhere,” he mused aloud, “ that 
Palestine is alive with them. Perhaps the Good 


LARRY IS MADE A FOOL 


77 


Samaritan was accustomed, so to speak; if not, my 
respect for him doubles. ,, 

“ I told you you were going to be flippant,” she 
rebuked him, “ and you were. You might try to 
help it, even when you can’t! But now, will you 
answer my question? ” 

“ Which?” he asked. “ Lord love you, I 
thought you had still mine to answer! Where 
would I be putting him now? You wouldn’t have 
me take him into my own bed, I suppose ? Barring 
other obstacles — which I will do for your sweet 
sake — it has a weak leg. It wouldn’t hold up 
two.” 

“ Surely you’ve a corner ? ” she was beginning. 

“ True for you, I haven’t much to steal. But 
there’s a pork-pie in the cupboard that’s meant for 
my breakfast. D’ye suppose he’s got a certificate 
of honesty anywhere about him now? ” 

She lost patience : “ Am I to turn him out into 

the streets at this time of night? And after giving 
him hope — ? ” 

“ That I would come round, as I generally do ? 
Well, why didn’t he make a shy at a Shelter ? Per- 
haps he’s too proud ? I’m not. I’ve done it before 
now. Or a police-station? You can always break 
a window and get free lodging; or a leg — that’s 
better yet — and be laid up for a month in hospital. 
That’s my own private particular dodge when I’m 
in a bad way again. And the river is always with 
us ” — his laugh lacked mirth. 


78 [THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ He was on the verge,” said she ; “ I caught him 
in time.” 

“ Hurroo ! ” — from Larry softly. “ Did you 
pull him back by the skirts of his coat? It has the 
look of it.” 

“ Don’t jeer ! He said — ” 

“ Only that? They always say.” 

Larry was disappointed, and when he heard that 
Nick had been the sole encumbrance and detaining 
force, added unsympathetically: “He might have 
been sold for cat’s meat, you know.” Perceiving 
offence in her face, he hastened on to : “ You’ve no 
idea of the gentleman’s social position, of course? 
How many years he has been the King’s guest at 
Portland or Pentonville or Wormwood Scrubbs?” 

She vouchsafed no answer to such trifling. 

“ No ? Remember I’ve an important part to play 
next week.” 

Then she sighed : “ Let me pass. I must go 

down and soften the superintendent’s heart, I sup- 
pose.” 

He melted : “ Oh, come now. Nothing of the 

sort. I’ll break my own for you first, to say noth- 
ing of trifling inconveniences.” 

She was triumphant : “ There ! I always knew 

you would be a darling ! ” 

“Divil a bit if I was so sure of it meself! But 
indeed there’s another word that fits the two of us 
pat. If it wasn’t yourself is as bad, I’d confess 
freely that I’m the biggest in the Universe ; and how 


LARRY IS MADE A FOOL 


79 


the House will continue to hold the pair of us, is a 
wonder to me ! However, if I’m alive when I wake 
up in the morning — ” 

She ignored this little pleasantry : “ Larry, you 

don’t mean to tell me that you’re afraid? ” 

“ Afraid, is it? Oh, no, I’ll be jibbered if I am! 
I’ll give him a rug on the sitting-room floor; and 
then I’ll lay my property broadsword by the side of 
the bed; and if in the course of the night he shows 
a disposition to commit suicide on himself or on me, 
I’ll make a ghost of him. But look you now, I 
shall have to bath him first with Monkey-brand — 
him and the dog — O Lord ! And I shall have to 
make up his clothes into a bundle and sneak down 
with them to the river — eh ? And in the morning 
you’ll have to go a-borrowing to fit him out again. 
St. Patrick ! What have you let me in for, Petty- 
Zou?” 

“ Is it so bad as that, Larry ? Oh, dear, I al- 
ways do wrongest when I mean best! And now I 
shall worry — ” 

“ Don’t,” says Larry. “ Whatever else you’re 
guilty of, let your conscience be clear of worry. As 
if it isn’t meself owes you more good turns than 
you could count on the fingers of both hands ! Who 
else is it keeps me straight in the jaws of this great 
dirty beast of a London? ” 

“ The Blue Spider,” she continued his thought, 
“ — the Great Blue Spider, who spins her webs day 
and night, and draws us all in and devours us when 


8o THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


she likes — ah, Larry dear ! ” She held out her 
hands impulsively. 

“ Ah, Petty-Zou,” says he, taking them, “ and 
if I were but a year or two older and more respon- 
sible, isn’t it meself would be head over ears in 
love with you altogether ? ” 

“ Bless you, Larry ! ” says she, withdrawing her 
fingers. “ If I were twenty years younger now — ” 
“Twenty, is it?” he asked innocently. “But 
twenty off would leave you just about ten in the 
hole to my thinking. Now for Bumpus.” 

He escaped her retort, two steps at a time, shooed 
old Nick from further investigation of the coal- 
bucket, still hungry although considerably rounded 
out with tea-dregs and potato skins, and had de- 
parted with the shaggy brothers thus foisted upon 
him, before Petty-Zou arrived on the landing. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE POOR AT A DINNER 

Quite in the course of events, and as if there 
were nothing at all unusual about the affair, several 
weeks later, Petty-Zou was dining with the Countess 
of Savernake in Portland Place. 

Fate decreed that her cab should almost collide 
with a companion-vehicle, whence emerged, when 
the danger was averted, Lord Wharton. They met 
on the doorstep. 

“ Don’t give me away, will you ? ” he pleaded. 

“ Why ? What have you been doing now ? ” She 
chid herself for being so pleased to see him. 

“ You’ll know soon,” said he, and looked down at 
her grey-cloaked figure with such manifest approval 
that the butler found it time to cough and save the 
situation. 

When Petty-Zou entered the drawing-room in her 
grey crepe de chine with its rare old Venetian point, 
and her necklace of ancient scarabs as blue as her 
eyes, unconsciously she challenged comparison with 
a fine Gainsborough portrait of a stately little lady 
who had married one of the Savernakes more than 
a century ago. But Petty-Zou looked the younger 
81 


82 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


of the two, though the Countess had died well un- 
der forty. 

The hostess was gathered up into a purple satin 
that none of her guests would have dared to as- 
sume, with her high head tilted yet higher under 
the superstructure of snowy roll that she wore “ to 
balance the Wharton nose.” In this fashion she 
looked down upon Petty-Zou and observed : “ What 
fool have you got for a dentist? ” 

“ I ? ” said Petty-Zou. “ I never had a dentist 
in my life! ” 

“ So that's the reason,” continued the Countess 
gruffly. “ You won't have a single tooth left soon.” 

“ Well ” — Petty-Zou cocked her head on one 
side to consider — “ if I lose all the others, I still 
have four wisdom teeth to come; and bridges can 
be built across the gaps. But I’ve never had the 
toothache in my life.” 

“ Except — you know,” interrupted Lord Whar- 
ton, appearing suddenly. 

Petty-Zou looked at him in wonder. 

“ Your neuralgia, you remember, that kept you 
from coming here last time,” said he, with a twin- 
kle. 

She flushed a pretty pink from eyes to chin. 
“ Oh, but that had nothing whatever to do with my 
teeth,” said she. “ I often suffer that way.” And 
she added to herself ; “Neuralgia of the purse! ” 

“ Hm ! ” said the Countess, looking from the one 
to the other as if she suspected mischief. “ Well, 


THE POOR AT A DINNER 


83 


you can have your choice of the curates. I advise 
the little downy one that looks like a half-fledged 
chicken. Til bring him up presently. Philip, you 
must take the Duchess. Savernake is out of town, 
you know.” 

Probably the three of them had the same men- 
tal image of the solitary earl picking cheerfully at 
a partridge or some such thing, in a little foreign 
restaurant affected by him when he desired to be 
officially absent. He did not share his wife’s de- 
sire to stimulate social and intellectual progress by 
periodic dinners to different groups of workers. 

As the Countess moved away, Lord Wharton 
seized the moment to say hastily: ‘Tin sorry, but 
you didn’t explain and she was going to be offended ; 
and it was the best excuse I could invent on the spur 
of the moment.” 

Petty-Zou dimpled, safeguarded by publicity. 
“ You could never guess the true reason.” 

“You despised the company?” 

“ Not I. It would have been fun.” 

“The dinner then?” 

“Never! It’s too doubtful in this uncertain 
world when one may get another . . . No, this 

. . . and this . . . and this ” — she indi- 

cated her lace and jewels — “all in pawn. Only 
just come out.” 

She had no time to observe the effect upon him 
of her shocking words; the curate was at her el- 
bow. 


84 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


By some strange oversight or mistake, it hap- 
pened that they two, whom the Countess had sep- 
arated by the social gap between a duchess and a 
curate, were neighbours still, completing the circle ; 
and to their further temptation, it also appeared that 
both the curate and the duchess were hungry, where- 
upon after a few civilities to their proper partners, 
they were forced to talk to each other or remain 
silent. 

Lord Wharton broke the ice by observing drily: 
“ Reminds me of your zoo — on its best behaviour.” 

“ That is because they are dining with a coun- 
tess,” she said naughtily. “ Do you suppose they 
all have missions ? ” 

“ All this lot, so far as I know them,” said he, 
after a hasty survey. “ It’s worse than last time. 
Savernake stood that. Distinctly lighter vein. 
Pity you couldn’t come.” His eyes were bent on 
her as serenely as if he did not know the meaning 
of the word pawn. She longed to know how 
deeply the sting of it had pricked him. 

She shrugged: “We in the House are used to 
such little mishaps.” She pointedly set him apart 
from her plural; but in her next words, she slipped : 
“ Bumpus saved me this time.” 

“ Bumpus ? ” he asked mildly. , 

“Yes — you don’t know him.” She bit her lip 
and turned the subject : “ Who is that lecturing at 

the other end ? ” 

“ Don’t you know ? ” he asked surprised. “ The 


THE POOR AT A DINNER 85 

Reverend Morpham. He’s rather your sort too — - 
preaching a new religion in the slums.” 

“ My sort ? ” she said. “ Thank you. But I 
don’t preach. I try to let myself be taught. Is he 
converting the Honourable Sophie ? ” 

“ Looks like it,” said he, “ though how she can 
work it in with the suffrage question I don’t see. 
But the Egges are useful listeners. You’ll miss a 
great chance if you don’t speak for yourself to- 
night. You’ve got the audience. Study the collec- 
tion: Lady Marks expounding the sweating laws 
to Sir Lambwell, who sits open-mouthed, ready 
with his dicta on drink ; Dr. Hilhanger spouting fis- 
cal reform to Miss Gouge armed cap-a-pie in de- 
fence of free soup-kitchens. My neighbour believes 
in introducing Botticelli to Whitechapel, yours pins 
his faith to candles and incense. There’s only Gats- 
thorpe and myself as buffers, and you to — show 
them what fools they are.” 

She shook her head : “ It’s not the place or the 

time. Even if they are, they can’t help it, I sup- 
pose. And I’m not the person, because, you see, 
I’m another! ” 

“ Listen,” said he ; and she let two courses pass 
scarcely touched while she obeyed. 

“ They do talk rubbish about us poor,” was her 
verdict at last. 

“ You poor ” — he smiled upon her; and she was 
suddenly timid and silent. 

“ No doubt they have high ideals,” she said, in 


86 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


defence of the present company; but she turned 
aside as she spoke and threw out a plank of con- 
versation to her curate. After that, Lord Whar- 
ton, from the maze of a lukewarm discussion with 
his duchess on the refining influence of Botticelli’s 
feet, heard only scraps of phraseology concerning 
the merits of the different chants from Petty-Zou 
and the curate. He was growing very dull as he 
listened to the voice of Miss Gouge across the table, 
uttering dreary statistics on charitable mutton-broth, 
when the drone was suddenly cut short by Petty- 
Zou’s sweet, shrill pipe : “ But tell me, how can 

any self-respecting sheep give so many gallons of 
soup ? ” 

She had brought it on herself, the gape and the 
little titter; she grew red and shrank back as Miss 
Gouge prepared an icy answer. 

But she had unsuspected support from the pon- 
derous duchess, who boomed at her like a bell: 
“ Quite right and properly asked. Statisticians are 
all fools. Personal contact is the thing.” 

It was unkind of Petty-Zou to round so promptly 
upon one who had just taken her part. She spoke 
incisively : “ I wonder if you really do know what 

you mean ? ” 

The duchess might have been likened to a blun- 
derbuss of the old school that required some time 
for a second charging. Petty-Zou was at her 
again before she was reloaded; and was not even 
aware of the horror-struck silence of the table, or 


THE POOR AT A DINNER 87 

of Lord Wharton’s eyes twinkling over the hand 
that covered his mouth. 

She murmured as gently as the sucking dove: 
“ I asked only for information, because I’m not 
sure myself. I know that some people put soup and 
potatoes and tracts on poles, and push them across 
the chasm to us poor folk; but they never come 
themselves within a mile or two of us — or if they 
do, they sniff, and say ‘ My good woman.’ Should 
you call that personal contact? Or what is it — 
really?” 

“ The Settlements,” began her curate timidly ; 
but the duchess was now ready for action. 

“ What I mean,” said she, “ is that we can do 
so much to improve them by showing them what we 
are.” 

“Yes,” said Petty-Zou, still with infantile gen- 
tleness, “ and they can do so much to improve us by 
showing us what they are. I found that out long 
ago.” 

Perhaps the Countess feared that she would go 
on to a list of instances, for she put in a word 
of explanation: “Miss Coverdale is a heretic of 
the deepest dye.” 

In the polite murmur of assumed interest that 
followed, and the instantaneous cropping up of 
fresh topics — or the old — by license of the 
hostess, as it seemed, Petty-Zou, with a burning red 
spot in each cheek, was relegated to her audience 
of one. 


88 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ I wasn't going to say any more," said she. 
“ The Countess needn’t have been afraid. . . 

“ Don’t be so ferocious ! ” he soothed her. “ She 
wasn’t afraid. But she knew your good words 
would be all wasted here.’’ 

“ You said before . . 

“ But I say now, having studied the audience 
critically, that you’d better waste them all on me.’’ 

“ Would you mind, Miss Coverdale,’’ said the 
downy curate, suddenly protruding himself, “ giv- 
ing me an instance of what you would call personal 
contact? ’’ 

“ Twenty, if you like,’’ she answered promptly. 
“ When Mrs. Tudor shows me how to cook a rab- 
bit, or when I give Pip his bath, or carry Charles- 
Augustus on the Embankment in fine weath- 
er . . 

“ And a passer-by gives you twopence ? ’’ sug- 
gested Lord Wharton, perceiving that the duchess 
had bent an ear. 

She was not abashed : “ So she did. And I 

took it, of course, and said that it would buy the 
babes a teething-ring, so that Rose-Mary might 
have a little more peace.’’ 

It is doubtful whether either the duchess or the 
curate gathered the drift of this speech. The lat- 
ter returned to his dinner, unfatigued; the former 
observed with her charming bluntness: “ You 
seem to have peculiar methods of dealing with the 
submerged tenth ! ” 


THE POOR AT A DINNER 


89 


“ Why, I don’t know that we are submerged al- 
together,” said Petty-Zou politely, “ but personally 
I’d rather be drowned any day than an object of 
philanthropy ! ” 

Sudden deafness afflicted the duchess; a cough 
Lord Wharton; the curate ate calmly. 

Then Petty-Zou ran away with herself on the 
tip of her tongue. She broke into a delicious and 
confidential bubble of laughter, leaning a little to- 
wards her misappropriated partner : “ My last 

‘ personal contact ’ was when Bumpus had his rheu- 
matism; I anointed him with olive oil and lapped 
him in red flannel. He got well.” 

He was quickly responsive. “ Ah, yes,” said he, 
“ Bumpus. I have not the honour of his acquain- 
tance — yet.” 

She drew back in swift repentance, and fell upon 
the curate’s new lodging-house scheme. 

After that, Lord Wharton had small chance with 
her; but he heard something of their talk in the gen- 
eral hum, and smiled over stray phrases, such as 
“ got to earn our freedom — he will work if you cut 
off his food supply — keep him from contaminating 
others — twin curses are liberty and charity . . 
Enough heresy was uttered to have set the table 
afire, had its several members not been galloping 
their own hobbies into empty space. 

In the end, a stray sentence sent the gentleman 
of wealth and leisure into a muse : “ You’ve got to 

be poor, you know, to love the poor.” 


CHAPTER XII 


A CAB BUT NO PROGRESS 

When Petty-Zou wrapped herself in her long 
cloak, she was reflecting that all dinners are dan- 
gerous and lead to situations; and she thanked 
heaven almost audibly, as she descended in the 
wake and shadow of the Honourable Sophia Egge, 
that she had escaped this time and must never 
venture again. 

But her cab extraordinarily did not appear; and 
the Lurking Danger was again at her side as she 
waited, with a few others, herself out of sight, she 
hoped, under the stairs. 

“ There’s a fog,” said the Danger, buttoning his 
long coat. “ You will have to let me see you home. 
I have sent for — ah, here it is.” 

Certainly a vehicle was at the door and it was 
no occasion for a scene. Petty-Zou walked out 
without a word, and settled herself with her black 
mantilla close about her face, and her eyes, as far 
as they were visible, very bright and hard. 

Lord Wharton gave directions, and as the horse 
stretched a careful foreleg out into the yellow dark- 
ness, pulled up the glass, and fell back with an audi- 
ble sigh of satisfaction: “ Now we can talk,” 

90 


A CAB BUT NO PROGRESS 


9i 

“ No, we can’t,” said Petty-Zou, choking a little, 
though so muffled, “ not in this.” 

“ You can't then,” he assented, “ but you can 
listen. And I shall.” 

“ What do you want to say ? ” Her voice came 
from remote and icy peaks. He could not know 
that she was already scourging herself for her in- 
discretions. 

“ Bumpus is my present theme,” said he drily. 
“ My immediate theme.” 

He saw that she shrugged, but waited in vain 
for further reply. 

Then he resolved to use her method and they sat 
in a silence at once comical and uncomfortable, 
while their horse picked his way along the empty 
street until he came to the great thoroughfare and 
there waited for a string of motor-’buses to pass. 
Their horns were muffled and fear-inspiring. Pet- 
ty-Zou shivered a little, half leaned to him, re- 
membered that he was the Danger and caught her- 
self. 

“ I hate waiting!” she cried petulantly. 

Apparently their horse heard; he pricked up his 
ears and moved a little; then a dense yellow wave 
cut off his front half from their sight, and he 
paused again, coughing, it might be judged from 
sounds that came from the direction of his invisi- 
ble part. The cabby above seemed to be re- 
volving the situation in choice language of his 
own. 


92 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ A headless beast conducting two fools,” was 
the Danger’s comment. 

“ Shall we have to walk ? ” asked Petty-Zou, in 
some anxiety for her one presentable gown. 

“ No, cabby shall walk and lead his horse ” — 
the masculine mind solved the difficulty. And pres- 
ently they were safely past Oxford Street, away 
from the perils of petrol ; and an invisible man led an 
invisible horse along the desert of Regent Street. 
Aside from sparse yellow blurs which they took 
to be street lamps, they could see nothing but each 
other; and even so, with a thin veil between their 
faces — or was this imaginary ? 

“ The time and the place,” said he cheerfully, 
“ are favourable to a hearing of the case of Bum- 
pus.” 

“ .Why do you want to know about Bumpus ? ” 
she pouted, longing to escape. 

“Why are you so secret about him? Because 
I suspect he’s fresh mischief that you’ve been up 
to!” 

“ He’s my affair at least,” she was beginning, 
when suddenly her triumph escaped her : “ All 

the same, he’s invaluable ! ” 

“ A find — eh ? ” he queried drily. “ And where 
did you pick him up ? ” 

“Is that black thing the Nelson Column?” — 
she peered into opaque darkness. 

“ Can’t see so far. Found him on the Embank- 
ment — eh ? Am I right ? ” 


A CAB BUT NO PROGRESS 


93 


This was a stray shot, based upon some knowl- 
edge of her habits; but he read shrewdly that he 
had hit the mark. “ Eats you out of house and 
home,” he pursued relentlessly. 

“ He was on the edge of suicide,” she said; and 
added, with what intent she could not have told, 
nor can I : “ We passed you , I think.” 

“ I have never been on the edge of suicide,” said 
he gravely. 

“ You were on your way to make laws for him 
and all his brothers,” she answered, feeling that 
a reproach was due somewhere and not knowing 
quite where to place it. , 

“ I am not aware,” said he, balancing between 
humour and sadness, “ that we mighty ones of the 
earth have found much time yet — or money — for 
that part of the family. But in his case, who pays? 
You do, of course.” 

There was laughter in her eyes now : “ How 

much ? ” 

He fell into the trap : “ Whatever it is, it’s too 

much.” 

“ Well, then, it's nothing,” said she. “ Is that 
too much? He works for love.” 

“Aha! Oho!” said he, in a curious tone of 
voice. 

“ It’s quite true. You might ask anybody in the 
House. He doesn’t want pay. Only when the Mc- 
Callahans’ sink gets clogged or the water goes 
wrong, and he puts it all right, they don’t let him 


94 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


go home without a drop of Irish stew or something 
— naturally. And once when he told Mrs. Tudor 
how to cure the toothache, she gave him some 
shrunken old flannels of Tudor’s — but that was 
nothing. When Danny Wale skinned his knee, he 
bandaged it, and he picked up the Boococks’ pawn- 
ticket when Marion lost it ; and once he kept Lemon 
from knocking his wife’s front teeth out — please 
don’t interrupt me, I know. And another time he 
found the Jakeses a jug, when they wanted to send 
out for porter and one of the twins had broken 
theirs. It doesn’t matter what goes wrong in the 
House, it’s always ‘ Send for Bumpus,’ and he comes 
and puts it right — there ! ” 

“ That’s a tremendous speech for the defence,” 
said he, “ and my legal mind is properly impressed ; 
but why didn’t you wait until you heard what the 
charge was ? ” 

“Well, what is it?” she asked briefly. 

“ Bless you, dear lady, I’ve nothing against Bum- 
pus. You’re the guilty one.” 

“Guilty of what?” 

“Of not taking care of yourself — no more.” 

“ As to that,” she answered with dignity, “ never 
think for a moment that my friends in Erasmus 
House would let me run any risk.” 

He answered so simply that she was — almost — 
touched : “ I wish I could be sure of that. I’m 

not. I tell you, it’s no joke. Put yourself in my 
place a moment. Suppose somebody you were fond 


A CAB BUT NO PROGRESS 


95 

of insisted upon harbouring all sorts of ragamuffins 
and outcasts and prison-birds — ” 

“ I really cannot listen to such libel on my poor 
Bumpus ! ” 

“ Oh, yes, you can. He may be a thief, a mur- 
derer, a — what you like ! I tell you, it’s not safe. 
And what am I to do ? ” 

“ If I were in your place?” she mused. Then 
she mimicked his voice : “ I should jolly well keep 

out of the mix-up altogether ! ” 

“ Easily said. I think I’d rather be in it than 
keep away and imagine what might be going on.” 

“ It doesn’t concern you ! ” said she, with a 
piteous sort of pecking. 

“ No,” said he. “ Mere idle curiosity. But — 
where do you say he feeds ? ” 

“ I didn’t say ” — she pouted ; but she had a cer- 
tain instinctive knowledge of the man, which usu- 
ally warned her when she was going too far. “ He 
takes turns. Scraps, you know — what would oth- 
erwise be wasted. It must be heaven after ash- 
bins! He told me that he used to scrape up the 
tea-leaves that were put out in front of restaurants 
for the dustmen to take — used to collect them and 
brew them again . . . We don’t know half 

the horrors of this world . . . To-night we’ve 

been dining, and to-morrow poor creatures will 
come and gnaw the bones we left . . .” 

“ I’m afraid talking won’t mend that,” said he 
gently. “ Come back to Bumpus. Where does he 


9 6 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


sleep ? Who buys his clothes — since he works 
for love? ” 

“ I got Larry to give him a room . . 

“ Thought you said you didn’t pay? ” 

“ I don’t,” she cried indignantly. “ Larry won’t 
take any money, though I urged him ever so ! And 
it won’t be long, I’m sure, before Bumpus will be on 
his legs again.” 

“Ah? I wonder how he came to be off his 
legs? ” he said thoughtfully, into mid-air. 

For a moment there was no sound except the 
slow, muffled hum of the traffic, then she said : “We 
never know how long we shall keep on our feet — 
any of us. He was just down on his luck. I’m not 
sure — I’m afraid I don’t exactly remember how 
it came about, myself. It didn’t seem polite to ask. 
Besides, we mustn’t hold a person’s past against 
him, must we ? ” 

“ Go on,” was all he vouchsafed. 

“Well — you asked about his clothes . . . 

We took up a collection for him, the next morning; 
his own were — you understand ! ” She laughed 
suddenly : “ He was a quaint figure in an old vel- 

veteen stage- jacket of Larry’s, some checked trous- 
ers of Lemon’s — Alf’s such a little man — and a 
pair of red velvet slippers donated by old Seascale. 
Poor dear! His daughter-in-law makes him a pair 
every Christmas and that’s all she ever does do for 
him except invite him to tea occasionally and let 
him kiss the baby . . 


A CAB BUT NO PROGRESS 9 7 

“ Why didn’t you turn him — Bumpus, I mean 
— over to the C. O. S. ? ” he asked abruptly. 

“ Mercy on us ! ” she cried. “ You wouldn’t 
have me do such a thing? I shouldn’t have the 
heart ; they ask the rudest questions ! And then — 
there’s the dog.” 

“Dog?” he groaned. “O Lord! Who keeps 
the dog ? ” 

“ He doesn’t take much keeping,” she answered. 
“ A bone and a hearth-rug and a little exercise — 
I do.” 

He shook his head over her : “ This is a bad 

case — a very bad case indeed ! ” 

They seemed to be passing through Trafalgar 
Square, and though the lions of the Column were 
still lost in the fog, the cabman thought it safe to 
climb up to his perch; and they bowled along 
Whitehall almost swiftly. 

“ I wish I knew how to make you believe in Bum- 
pus,” she said plaintively ; and with a sudden mem- 
ory, added : “ Why, only the other day, he saved 

Danny’s life, when his mother was drunk and try- 
ing to throw him out of the window . . .” 

“ And what payment did he take for that ? ” he 
asked suspiciously. , 

“ Well ” — she became a little embarrassed — “ it 
sounds rather queer, and I don’t know whether you 
will understand; but I’m sure it’s a brilliant idea 
and nobody else would ever have thought of it. 
. . . Must I tell?” 


98 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ Certainly.” 

“ Please try and take it in the right way. You 
see, he reasoned it out that if she had only half 
the amount of drink, she wouldn’t get drunk; and 
everybody knows that she spends as long as she’s 
got a penny. So a few days after, I found them 
sitting together at the Setting Sun — I was just 
passing by when the door swung open — and he 
explained to me how it was. You see ? ” 

Um — he did see. “ I suppose you don’t know 
anything about his ancestry?” 

“ We look to the future,” said she; and then for- 
getting that Larry had manifested a similar curios- 
ity, she added : “ I told you, you always thought 

by classes ! ” 

“ Um,” he repeated. “ I think I must have an 
eye to Bumpus.” 

“ That’s just what Tudor said ! ” she cried ; and 
then nothing would do but he must have that story 
also. 

“ It was only a nightmare,” she explained. “ He 
grabbed Mrs. Tudor and began to knock her about 
and said ‘ I have my eye on you!’ And when she 
woke him, he was cross and growled : ‘ Your name 

ain’t Bumpus, is it ? Go to sleep ! ’ But the best 
of it is, I know just how it came about. She told 
me that he had eaten half a bottle of pickled onions 
for supper. So of course the poor thing had in- 
digestion.” 

“ Well — well — well,” said he, as they began to 


A CAB BUT NO PROGRESS 


99 


pace again through a sea of brown fog, “ all the 
same I’m coming to sift him. .Tell him to look out. 
Tudor’s a useful man.” 

“ I hate your interfering ways ! ” she cried, feel- 
ing as if she were in a net. “ I don’t know what 
to do with you! I always have got into trouble 
more or less — it’s my fate — and I always get out 
without any help! And if I like to go on pawning 
my things ” — she paused for breath, and began a 
fresh sentence : “ It would be a pretty story to tell, 

wouldn’t it, if anybody were — were — ” 

“ My wife? ” said he quietly. “ But in that case 
I shouldn’t allow it.” 

“ You wouldn’t — ? ” 

“ Allow it, I said. If it really came to that, I 
should do all the pawning myself.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THREE EYES TO BUMPUS 

The day after the dinner-party in Portland Place, 
Eleanor Lane, the young journalist-typist in Eras- 
mus House, was deep in a review of a treatise on 
gastronomy ; and she was not getting on very well, 
for there was something in the subject particularly 
offensive to an empty — you see, she had eaten 
nothing except a ha’penny worth of boiled potatoes 
that day. She was a proud young thing — so proud 
that not even Petty-Zou always understood to how 
rigorous a simplicity she sometimes reduced her 
diet. 

At tea-time then, Petty-Zou after a furious fit 
of labour resultant upon much thinking the night 
before, laid aside her tools, and went downstairs 
to find somebody “ to be human with.” 

Her entrance was so abrupt that it surprised the 
foolish Eleanor with one shawl about her neck, and 
another about her feet, and a tear-stained sheet of 
paper before her. 

“ Oh,” said Petty-Zou, “ I’ve invited myself to 
tea, but there isn’t any, and your fire’s out ! ” 

Eleanor tried to affect a start of surprise. “I 
ioo 


THREE EYES TO BUMPUS 


IOI 


was so busy,” she pleaded; but her blank paper did 
not bear her out. 

"Well,” said Petty-Zou, “fires always take ad- 
vantage of one when they can ; but mine is behaving 
most Christianly just now, so come upstairs and 
we’ll see what we can find.” 

The reluctant Eleanor was on a fourteen-and- 
sixpenny chair-bed, covered with Oriental silk given 
to Petty-Zou years before by an Arab sheikh, and 
therefore named the Throne, in the warmest corner 
of the pottery, before she could utter two words of 
protest. 

“ A fire is the lamp of life, this weather,” said 
Petty-Zou severely, “ and you’re a Foolish Virgin 
to let yours burn out.” 

“ I know,” was Eleanor’s meek answer, hiding 
the fact that there was no coal-dust in her box. 

“ It’s better to borrow than to die,” continued 
Petty-Zou, with flagrant perversion of her own 
principles. She brought out a fragment of cake 
and a paper bag with biscuits. “ You won’t mind 
that there isn’t any milk ? Pip took pity on a stray 
cat this morning. But there’s half a lemon — only 
you English will never be educated up to such a 
thing.” 

“Anything — so it’s hot,” said Eleanor, trying 
not to shiver as she thawed. 

“ I was saying,” continued Petty-Zou severely, 
as she laid out an old Indian tray, two cups and 


102 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 

saucers of Chinese porcelain, and odd rejected 
pieces of a tea-service of her own making. “ I 
was talking about borrowing . . 

“ You never borrow,” interrupted Eleanor, with 
a faint show of spirit. 

“ You are not to speak until you have had tea. 
The floor is mine. Listen, you silly girl. When 
one person has pounds and pounds of coal, and an- 
other sits shivering because the world is too un- 
enlightened to — ” 

“ Don’t,” says Eleanor, “ or I shall cry. I’m 
so — ” 

“ Cold and hungry,” interrupted Petty-Zou. 
“ Serves you right. If you won’t borrow next 
time, come and steal out of my pantry, and 
I’ll do as much by you, I promise — when it’s my 
turn.” 

Presently she was kneeling by Eleanor’s side, 
offering her best : “ You ought to be reported to 

the police quite as much as poor Bumpus — for at- 
tempting suicide, you know.” 

Eleanor sipped in grateful silence, while Petty- 
Zou continued, forgetting to rise : “ I never know 

from day to day what there will be for tea, but 
there’s always something; and as for going cold, 
I’d burn my furniture by inches. That’s very sim- 
ple. It’s wonderful how many things one can do 
without when one tries. Or books. I particularly 
enjoy conflagrations of fat authors who don’t de- 
serve what they get, while Eleanor . . 


THREE EYES TO BUMPUS 


103 


“ Don’t be spite ful,” said Eleanor. “ After all, 
it’s my own fault for trying it. Everything finds its 
use.” She was remembering the fine though brief 
blaze of many a rejected manuscript, by which she 
had warmed cramped fingers. 

But Petty-Zou was thinking hard. She set her 
own cup down on the hearth-rug beside her. 
“ Eleanor,” she said, “ how long have you been at 
it? ” 

“ At it? ” said Eleanor. “ About four years.” 

“ And when are you going to begin to get on? ” 

“ I made seven-and-sixpence last week! ” — Elea- 
nor defied her. 

“ And this week? ” 

“ There will be the review of the gastronomical 
work. I don’t know of anything else.” 

“ And Larry — when is his over-study — is that 
what you call the man he understudies ? — going to 
get drunk or break a leg, and give him his chance ? ” 

Eleanor was warm enough now to shrug with 
ease. 

“ Lord love you all! If I were rich, what 
couldn’t I do ? ” It was not the first time that temp- 
tation had stung her in this way. I am sorry to 
confess that she dallied with it now. 

“ How many years is it that I have been alone in 
the world ? ” 

“ You ought never to have been alone at all,” said 
Eleanor tenderly. “ You’re not that kind of per- 
son!” 


io 4 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ No? ” asked Petty-Zou. “ But I have had my 
good times . . . Eleanor, have I ever contem- 

plated marriage ? ” 

“ I have sometimes thought — ” hesitated Elea- 
nor, wondering how much she dared say. 

“ Oh, no, you haven’t,” interrupted Petty-Zou. 
“ Eleanor, you have thought nothing at all — be 
very sure of that! ” 

“ Mm ” — said Eleanor doubtfully. “ I know 
that I don’t know what I know — if it’s that kind 
of philosophy you’re meaning.” 

“ I’m not meaning any philosophy whatever. 
But it’s very clear, Eleanor, that you couldn’t pos- 
sibly think what doesn’t exist.” 

“ Now I’m lost,” said Eleanor, eagerly accepting 
a second piece of cake, “ but I thought I knew that 
Lord Wharton was slowly making up his mind to 
come to the point. I’m sorry if I’m on the wrong 
track.” 

“ And did you also think you knew that I was 
encouraging him ? ” asked Petty-Zou, with danger- 
ous quiet. 

“ I hoped so ” — Eleanor evaded her. “ He de- 
serves encouragement and is worth encouraging.” 

“ Oh, dear, deary ! ” And now Petty-Zou was 
rocking herself, her face in her hands. “ Eleanor, 
will you never remember how old I am?” 

“ It is difficult,” declared Eleanor, “ but even if 
I could, I fail to see that your age is a fatal objec- 
tion.” 


THREE EYES TO BUMPUS 


105 


“ That’s just what it is,” said Petty-Zou solemnly, 
“ fatal ! But we won’t talk about that any more, 
because we can’t help it, you know. I really wanted 
to speak to you about Bumpus.” 

“ I’d rather you talked to me about Lord Whar- 
ton,” demurred the visitor. 

“ Why, what is there to say about him ? ” asked 
Petty-Zou, in a tone of great surprise. 

“Well, for one thing,” Eleanor persisted, “he’s 
the nicest man I ever knew — ” she hesitated. 

“ — except Larry O’Neil,” concluded Petty-Zou 
briskly. “I’m glad you have such a good opinion 
of him. I consider him an obstinate, meddling 
old lady ! ” 

Eleanor shook out a violent protest : “ He’s a 

dear! You ought to marry him. You need just 
such a man to keep you within the bounds of reason 
and common sense.” 

Petty-Zou was not angry, or defiant ; she said with 
slow consideration : “ I’m not sure that I’ve ever 

strayed beyond — besides, it’s a horrid, poky place 
to be in ! ” 

“ So ” — observed Eleanor to the fire — “ so ! ” 

Petty-Zou was roused a little : “ My dear, what 

is the man to me ? ” 

“ That ” said Eleanor, still to the fire, “ is ex- 
actly what I should like to know.” 

“ We have always quarrelled — from the begin- 
ning,” continued Petty-Zou. 

“ That’s a good sign.” 


10 6 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“At least, I have.” Honesty compelled her to 
add : “ The very worst thing about him is, he won’t 
quarrel.” 

“ Are you sure ? ” asked Eleanor. “ I fancy he 
would quarrel very well, if you really put him to it; 
but he won’t bother about the little things.” 

“ Do you think so?” asked Petty-Zou. “It 
seems to me, he has done nothing else, all the days 
I have known him. He interferes in all the plans 
of my life. Even the Countess notices it, and she 
is so mortally afraid that . . .” 

“ That he will marry you?” interposed Eleanor 
softly. 

“ She needn’t be! ” cried Petty-Zou. “ I remem- 
ber once she spoke to me about a young woman 
her brother was thinking of — somebody eminently 
suitable. I said I thought it would be the best 
thing in the world for him; and she must have told 
him so, for the next day he came to me in a 
towering passion and said that when he was con- 
templating such a step, I should be the first to know 
it. And I swept him a curtsey and said I hoped it 
would be very soon; and we had words and — 
after a time, he went away. That was one of our 
many quarrels.” 

“ Ah ? ” said Eleanor. “ But he’s been here 
lately a good deal? ” 

“ Oh, yes, he comes ; but we’ve nothing really in 
common. Now there’s the case of Bumpus — he 
doesn’t understand him a bit.” 


THREE EYES TO BUMPUS 


107 


“ Who does? ” asked Eleanor. “ Do you? ” 

Then Petty-Zou developed a little line of worry 
between the eyebrows : “ Sometimes I think I do, 
but he is queer. To be quite honest, I can’t make 
out about that pawn-ticket.” 

“ You never told me,” said Eleanor, in quick 
alarm. 

“Didn’t I? Well you see, I had a second in- 
vitation from the Countess, and I didn’t exactly see 
why I should offend her by refusing again. But 
those things, you know — were still in pawn ; or 
rather, I thought they were — until Bumpus came 
in the other day, grinning all over, with the parcel 
under his arm.” 

“ Mercy on us ! ” cried Eleanor. “ What did 
he say ? ” 

“ Said he had found the pawn-ticket on the floor 
under the bureau, when he was sweeping.” 

“And where did he say he’d raised the money ? ” 
demanded Eleanor, with the air of a judge. 

“ Said he’d gone down Wapping-way to ask 
about a job Lemon was telling him of, and he fell 
in with an old pal just back from Kimberley, who’d 
struck it rich; and he said the man was so flush — 
Bludyer was the name, Frederick, I think — that he 
pressed on him a five pound note he’d borrowed 
ten years ago before Bumpus came down on his 
luck — see ? ” 

“ Hem,” says Eleanor, “ do you believe all that? ” 

‘ I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” answered Petty- 


io8 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


Zou, still with the troubled look. “ He told me 
every little thing, even how Bludyer stood him a 
dinner at the Yorkshire Grey, and what they had 
to eat. Why, I should know that Bludyer if I 
met him in The Marsh to-morrow — a stodgy little 
man with a limp, small side-whiskers and a large 
wart on his nose.” 

“ I see,” said Eleanor. “ Did you tell Lord 
Wharton all this ? ” 

“ No,” confessed Petty-Zou, “ I didn’t. He 
wouldn’t have understood.” 

Eleanor thought a while before she asked : “ And 
what did he do — Bumpus, I mean — with the rest 
of the money — the part he didn’t lend you? ” 

“ Put it into the Post Office Savings Bank — so 
now ! ” said Petty-Zou, feeling that here at least she 
scored. 

“ Then,” said Eleanor shrewdly, “ if it’s all as 
nice and proper as that, I don’t see what you’re 
worrying about.” 

“ Why, I don’t exactly know myself,” Petty-Zou 
admitted, “ but he’s so clever, you know ; and he 
talks so much and says such doubtful things — I 
might just tell you: when he opened the parcel 
and showed me what was inside, I was pleased, of 
course, and I said : ‘ O Bumpus, how could you ? ’ 
And then he said a man never knew what he could 
do till he tried . . . But I have a horrid, nasty, 

suspicious mind that won’t let me rest . . .” 

“ What do you suspect ? ” asked Eleanor. 


THREE EYES TO BUMPUS 


109 


“ Have you missed anything? — Well, you know ” 
— she stopped Petty-Zou’ s fiery protest — “he does 
have pretty well the run of the House, thanks to 
you; and you never have been able to find out a 
word about his past.” 

“ No,” said Petty-Zou, still hurt, “ I didn’t want 
to be inquisitive or rude. We took each other on 
faith. Oh, dear, deary — if you are afraid of the 
poor thing . . 

“ I’m not afraid,” answered Eleanor with spirit, 
“ but I’m very sure that if I had any money, I 
should keep an eye on him.” 

“ There,” cried Petty-Zou, out of patience at 
last. “ You’re the third! Three eyes on Bumpus! 
What is the world coming to? ” 

“ Who are the others ? ” asked Eleanor. 

But Petty-Zou would not tell. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE THUMB OF BUMPUS 

Within the week, the third eye was brought to 
bear upon Bumpus. The man stigmatized as an 
“ obstinate, meddling old lady ” came knocking at 
the pottery door, just when Petty-Zou was in the 
thick of Christmas orders. 

“ Come in,” says she brusquely, “ if you don’t 
mind the mess we are in. No, Pipsy, we can’t 
shake hands, either of us . . . Can you find a 

chair by the fire ? I’m afraid I’m too busy to stop.” 

“ Go on,” said he cheerfully. “ Don’t mind me. 
I came to see Bumpus. Is he in ? ” 

“ No,” she answered, rather sulkily. 

“ All right — I’ll wait. Hullo ” — bending over 
Pip’s handiwork — “ call that a horse ? Looks more 
like me playing giraffe. What? Want me to try 
— eh? Oh, I’m a perfect duffer at art . . . 

And it’s sticky stuff, you know . . 

But his courtesy blushed a little at the slight pos- 
sibly implied to that kind of work; and he redeemed 
his slip by picking the lump out of the coal-box into 
which Pip had just dropped it, and modelling it like 
a hero. 

In time Petty-Zou found it necessary to speak: 

i io 


THE THUMB OF BUMPUS 


hi 


“ Would you mind telling me what you mean to do 
with Bumpus?” But he would not say a word 
until he had successfully bribed Pip to run away 
home. Then, still fingering the dirty clay, he said : 
“ I shall probably have an inspiration when I see 
him.” 

Petty-Zou suddenly remembered with a start that 
he was a Justice of the Peace in his own county, 
and that he was said to have a way with him on the 
Bench. 

“ Where is the Invaluable ? ” he asked lightly. 

His coolness drove her to seek refuge among 
democratic, not to say plebeian, even vulgar, house- 
hold details : “ Out buying my dinner — beetroot, 
carrots, a chop and cream cheese.” 

“ It sounds very nice,” he said, with suspicious 
innocence; and then became absorbed in a green- 
ish medallion that hung on the wall before him: “ I 
never noticed this before. Who is it? ” 

“No, I only got it out lately,” she began, and 
there seemed nothing in the simple words to ac- 
count for her blush. “ It’s a sixteenth century 
Italian Somebody — dug out of an old wall near 
Cosenza. You can see the green through the white- 
wash now.” 

“Whitewashed, was he? Well, the poor old 
chap needed it, I daresay. Rather unkind of you 
to show him up in his original colours. What a 
singular thing ! ” 

“ What is?” 


1 12 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


He seemed to take it for granted that she knew ; 
at least, he continued : “ What sort of character now 
do you take the old fellow to have been? ” 

She meditated a little, even stopping her clay- 
work to look again, before she said: “The chief 
thing I notice about him is that he liked remarkably 
well to have his own way.” 

“ I should add by the look of him,” he suggested 
tentatively, “ that in the end he usually got it ? ” 

She returned to her modelling, demure enough: 
“ As to that, the histories differ.” 

“ What I was coming to ” — he ignored this last 
— “is: will you make me a copy of the thing some 
day ? 99 

“ Why? ” — her face showed plainly enough that 
she knew. 

“ Because the man might, by the look of him, be 
my twin brother, as you have discovered already. 
Will you?” 

“ I could not bind myself to a date ” — she hesi- 
tated. “ Perhaps — some day when . . .” 

“ When?” he urged. 

“ When you are — for a wedding present.” 

“ Ah, thanks,” said he, “ but I don’t want to wait 
so long. I may be in my grave before Tyrrhena 
comes round. Shall we say when ” — he, too, 
seemed to fumble for a suitable date. 

“ Well, when? ” she asked, enjoying his hesitancy 
a little. 

“ Shall we say when Bumpus is in Australia ? ” 


THE THUMB OE BUMPUS 


113 

was what he got out at last, to her amazement not 
untinged with fear. 

“ What do you mean ? He isn’t going there. 
Are you mad ? ” she asked. 

“ Not at all. And he might want to go. You 
never can tell. If that time comes, I may . . .” 

He left his sentence hanging, at the sound of foot- 
steps in the scullery. 

With a look of proud disdain at the meddler, 
Petty-Zou called the Invaluable, and he came in 
with his basket, but started perceptibly at sight of 
the stranger. His boots were decent, but he still 
shuffled ; clearly the habit was now in the grain. 

Petty-Zou raided the basket, inclined to be imp- 
ishly naughty, but with a growing sense of dis- 
comfort, almost anxiety : “ How much did I give 
you to spend, Bumpus ? A shilling ? ” 

“ One-and-six, mum,” said he promptly. His 
small, inquisitive eyes played about the visitor’s face 
much as Old Nick’s nose about the lordly trouser- 
hems — in each case, apparently, without attracting 
notice. 

“ It were this way, mum,” began Bumpus ; but 
Petty-Zou interrupted Now I remember, it was 
only a shilling, because it was the change left 
over from the milk bill, and I told you you would 
find it on the mantel-piece. . . 

“ Even if it had been two shillings,” said the 
tall, grey man, waking up, “ I should say he had 
done well.” 


1 14 .THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ To be honest, sir ” — began Bumpus again. 

“ Yes, to be honest : is your name Bumpus ? ” 

At this straight hit, the Invaluable One looked at 
his mistress, with dropping jaw. Perhaps her face 
encouraged him in his impertinence. He said in 
an injured tone verging on insolence : “ What else 
should it be ? ” 

“ That,” said the J. P., “ is what I wish to know.” 

“ Well, of all the ” — mumbled the accused, and 
was cut short by a bland : “ Christened how ? — may 
I ask?” 

“No charge for arskin’,” growled the afflicted. 
“ But as a free-born British subject I ain’t bound to 
answer . . . What’s more, I ain’t so sure there 

was a christening. Maybe I wasn’t there.” His 
courage grew upon him : “ Anythink more you’d 
like to know ? ” 

“ Several things,” said Lord Wharton ; but im- 
mediately after, he was tugging at the collar of Old 
Nick, who, possibly at a sly hint from his master, 
thought it high time to show his disapproval of 
aristocratic garments and his desire of tasting aris- 
tocratic blood. 

“I’d better take ’im and chain ’im up, mum,” 
urged Bumpus. “ ’E’s that bloodthirsty when ’e 
dislikes a person . . 

But Petty-Zou had no time to answer. “ He’s 
all right where he is,” said Lord Wharton, sup- 
pressing the growling quadruped under his chair, 
“ Stay where you are yourself.” 


THE THUMB OF BUMPUS 115 

Suddenly he stretched out his left hand to the 
table and caught up Pip’s dirty lump of clay, work- 
ing it smooth between his fingers. “ Sorry to 
trouble you,” said he sharply, turning to Bumpus, 
and holding out the stuff : “ Put your thumb there.” 

The effect was instantaneous. The Invaluable 
retreated with his hands behind his back : “ I ain’t 
done nothin’, guv’nor ! ” 

Lord Wharton smiled at Petty-Zou, and even she 
understood — what she would not understand — 
that Bumpus was familiar with the performance, 
and had no doubt as to its meaning. 

“ That’s all right,” the meddler was saying, in 
his pleasant way. “ Wait till you’re accused.” 
Then he turned to her: “ Would you mind going 
into the next room for a few moments, and closing 
the door ? ” 

She was greatly surprised to find herself obeying 
without question; and passed from the pottery into 
the kitchen, then into her bedroom. But the 
moment she was alone, her two selves fell out. 
Tyrrhena was in a white rage at the situation; but 
Sidonia in the looking-glass said only : “ Mercy on 
us! How untidy!” 

She washed her hands, took off her clay-stained 
pinafore, tucked up her hair a little, brushed her 
quaint little gown of blue serge, and even fussed 
over her broad, embroidered-linen collar and cuffs. 

When she could find nothing more to do, she 
sat down and folded her hands ; but terrible thoughts 


1 1.6 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


buzzed about her like hornets until she could bear 
them no longer and went back into the kitchen and 
walked the floor, wringing her hands, until the 
pottery door opened with a swing. Then with a 
mad impulse of terror at what she might see or 
hear, she clapped her thumbs over her ears and 
shut her eyes tight, and waited with a fluttering 
heart until she felt someone gently removing her 
hands from her ears. 

It was Lord Wharton alone and quite safe. 

“ Where is Bumpus ? ” she challenged him. 

He jerked his head in the direction of Larry’s 
rooms : “ My dear lady, it is as I thought. We must 
colonize him.” 

“ But does he want — ? ” 

“We can’t always have what we want in this 
world. It’s better than Wormwood Scrubbs or 
Holloway Gaol.” 

“ But you can’t mean — ? ” 

“ Alas!” 

“ But he’s invaluable ! ” 

“ He may be ; but all the same, I suspect he’s 

a — ” 

“ Don’t say it ! I can’t bear the word ! When 
we’ve been so friendly too! And I never missed 
a thing! ” 

“ Do you know exactly what you’ve got ? ” 

She hung her head, ashamed. 

“ You are the youngest child I know,” he teased 
her. “ A perfect little — ” 


THE THUMB OF BUMPUS n? 

“ I know. I pray every night : ‘ God be merciful 
to me a fool ! ’ ” 

“ But you are not the only one, my dear,” said 
he; and the sudden change of his manner showed 
her the urgent need of lights. It was doubtless her 
mood that required a pair of Venetian candlesticks 
instead of the gas. With a spill — one of her pet 
economies because she loves making them — she 
touched fire and candles in such a pretty process of 
gestures that the inquisitor forgot his business in 
comparing the gleams of her hair with the jewelled 
metal-work in her hands. 

“ Bumpus ? ” she asked sweetly, and added, all 
in a breath: “ I’m sure he hasn’t stolen from me! ” 

“ Or for you ? ” he asked shrewdly. 

The charge was so unexpected and crushing that 
she dropped limply on the settle-coal-box. 

“ Now there’s that affair of the pawn-ticket, for 
example. . . 

“ What of that ? ” — she held her breath. 

“ He admits that he found the ticket in your 
purse on your desk. He swears that you gave him 
half-a-crown . . 

“ And so I did!” 

“ One for him then. With this he backed Glycera, 
thirty to one, and by a streak of luck . . .” 

“ At the little tobacconist’s in Thistle Street,” she 
mused, as if to herself. 

“ Exactly. And the bulk of his sudden wealth he 
used, as was only decent, to help you out.” 


ii8 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ The devotion of it ! ” sighed this non-moral lady. 
“ But why didn’t he tell me the truth ? ” 

He laughed : “ Would you have taken the money? 
Oh, he knows you better than you know yourself. 
It would have been interesting to see how he meant 
to pay himself back ... I took the the pre- 
caution to look him up at Scotland Yard. No 
trace; but the name and the beard may be recent. 
And he may have wandered about the country for 
years. Nick suggests that . . . However, to 
come to the point. I know a chap out in North 
Australia who might give him a berth, if I asked 
it — on a big sheep-farm.” 

“ I was thinking of his rheumatism,” said she, 
very sadly. 

“ Fine, sandy soil, dry air — best thing in the 
world for rheumatism. He’s not much above forty 
and — we may make a man of him yet.” 

She meditated, then came out with a sudden turn : 
“ But think of the poor tradesmen he may have 
been cheating for me, all this time ! ” 

“ As to that,” said he drily, “ trust them to get 
even with you in the end.” 

“ But couldn’t I — do you think — send them — 
say five shillings apiece all round, and call it con- 
science-money? Anonymously, of course? ” 

“ You might do better,” said he gravely, “ if you 
could get an accurate list of the cheated from 
Bumpus. It would be a new way of righting 
wrongs.” 


THE THUMB OF BUMPUS 


119 

“ Now you are making fun of me ! ” she pouted. 

“ No,” said he, “ I am only trying to help. Well, 
as we haven’t a rag of proof, or a nail to hang it 
on, we must let him do as he will until I can make 
arrangements. If he runs away, all the better. It 
will save bother.” 

“ Thank you,” she said softly. “ But the bother 
will all be mine. I can arrange everything. I got 
him into trouble and I must see him through.” 

“ Oh, come, now,” said he, half laughing and half 
impatient : “ Let me look up the Emigration Office 
and we can settle about the costs later on.” 

“ Will you promise solemnly,” she said, “ to let 
me return all you spend on him ? ” 

“If I must,’” said he; and she did not at that 
time realize that the phrase might be interpreted in 
two ways. 

Then he hesitated a little, preparing to go : 
“ There’s only one thing. Without being brutal, I 
wish I could make you realize how serious a busi- 
ness this is. If one of your tradespeople had caught 
him, do you see that you might have been taken up 
for receiving stolen goods? Of course the charge 
would have come to nothing, but still, you wouldn’t 
have liked it, you know.” 

He had frightened her too much, it seemed; and 
he took her clasped, trembling hands to comfort 
them : “ You see, it doesn’t do for you to have too 
much rope, Petty-Zou. You’re not fit to be trusted 
alone in the world, with your mad ideas and — the 


120 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


rest of it. You listen to every beggar that comes 
along! If ever you get into such a scrape 
again . . 

“ Well? ” It was but a feeble defiance. 

“ I’ll marry you in spite of yourself ! ” said he 
fiercely, and was gone before she could utter a 
word. 

Then Tyrrhena dropped down before the Magic 
Mirror with a heavy sigh, her chin in her two 
hands : “ He’s wrong. There’s one beggar I never 
listen to; and that’s yourself, Sidonia. And what 
do you say now, you huzzy ? ” 

And Sidonia too looked as if the tears were not 
far off but whispered shamelessly : “ I wish he 
would ! ” 


CHAPTER XV 


WAYS AND MEANS 

For several days, Erasmus House lingered about 
doorways and stairheads, chewing the cud of the 
approaching departure of the invaluable Bumpus. 
There was a general conviction that “ somethink 
was h’up;” but Tudor, when appealed to, kept a 
stiff neck and examined a distant lamp post. He 
had been observed at the corner, deep in conversa- 
tion with his lordship; and the two of them had 
smiled as men that understand each other. Miss 
Petty-Zou was perpetually coming in with large 
parcels under her arm; and these, with due tact 
and circumspection, were found to contain flan- 
nels and knitted garments. Bumpus was genial but 
a trifle reserved, only cocking his hat airily to re- 
mark that if ever he had a wish in his life it were 
to see something of the world, and if he could 
be said to have one country in his eye more than 
another, that same it were Australia; and if so be 
he hadn’t the “ encumberence ” of Old Nick, in a 
manner of speaking ... At this point, he 
usually received a variety of offers to adopt the “ en- 
cumberence ;” but he always sighed and shook his 
head, and said as how the best friend a man ever 
121 


122 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


had would be looked after by the nearest approach 
to a angel that walked this earth ... It was 
sentiment clouded his meaning, not unaided by a 
few treats at the Setting Sun. 

But nothing more definite could be wormed out 
of him. Only Mrs. Wale, who had been already 
set aside by the House as his probably future part- 
ner when he had looked about him a bit and got 
“ took on ” somewhere, reddened her nose with her 
apron and rocked herself forlornly, saying: “ I 
might have told you as much all along.” But what 
she might have told seemed clear neither to herself 
nor to the House. 

The obvious fact was that while speculation was 
at its height, a Personage drove up in a cab — “ his 
lordship's wally,” went the whisper — and with the 
air of one condescending from functions of state, 
accepted Bumpus and his luggage. So great was 
his attentiveness — some diligent inquirer had 
learned — that he meant to accompany the emigrant 
all the way to Southampton, and see the ropes cast 
off. 

The triumph of the departure was somewhat sad- 
dened by a blood-curdling wail from Old Nick, who 
struggled in the hands of Petty-Zou and Eleanor 
to leap to a violent death. 

“ He’s a living proof,” gasped Petty-Zou, hang- 
ing on desperately to the quadruped’s collar, “ that 
there’s good in Bumpus ! ” 

“ Yes,” agreed Eleanor, leaving her to the brunt 


WAYS AND MEANS 


123 


of the battle, while she scrambled for the sugar- 
bowl to create a diversion; but with the first 
crunch of the sweet stuff she added : “ The mon- 
grel! He’ll not die of a broken heart! ” 

Petty-Zou looked at him sadly, still panting from 
her tug: “ We’re all mongrels, I suppose. None of 
us die of broken hearts. It must be the common 
stuff in us that resists wear and tear and keeps 
us going.” 

This was perhaps a fling at aristocracy — or was 
so understood by Eleanor; but that young woman 
observed only : “ It isn’t the cheap materials that 
wear best, Petty-Zou — oh ! ” 

Well might she exclaim — well, well. Petty- 
Zou, in the compassion of her heart, was searching 
the larder in behalf of the “ encumberence.” The 
outside door, not securely latched, had swung a 
little inward; Old Nick rooted, grunted, dashed; 
they heard his receding barks of triumph. 

Petty-Zou was for rushing after him; and 
Eleanor had another tug of war to restrain her: 
“ My dear, you’ll be arrested, chasing bare-headed 
after a dog! No, he won’t be run over; he’ll catch 
up with them — you’ll see. It isn’t long since they 
went. Bumpus will smuggle him aboard — I 
prophesy.” 

At last, Petty-Zou resigned herself with a sigh: 
“ Has Old Nick blue blood after all, or does cheap 
stuff sometimes wear well ? ” 

That same afternoon, she was helping Eleanor 


124 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


to contrive a blouse out of a pattern half a yard 
short. The pottery was strewn with bits of silk 
instead of clay, when Lord Wharton knocked. I 
would not say that Petty-Zou had deliberately 
tempted Eleanor away from the seventeenth chapter 
of her novel because she looked for Lord Wharton; 
but when he appeared, she made a hasty whispered 
appeal for support during the battle that she antici- 
pated. This was his first visit since the inquisition 
of Bumpus, the Personage having sufficed for such 
business details as needed discussion. 

He was prompt to explain himself : “ I thought 
you might be anxious to know that all is well and 
that Old Nick . . ” 

“ What of him ? ” asked Petty-Zou quickly. 

“ They’re off together,” he said, laughing to see 
her sweet relief. She had been a very sober Petty- 
Zou all that afternoon. “ He followed them to 
the station; they couldn’t shake him. And at last, 
in the confusion, Thompson bundled him under the 
seat, where he crawled behind a bag and led every 
traveller to wonder, I take it, which other fellow 
was snoring. At the docks the two were on board 
before Thompson had made up his mind what to 
do. Bumpus had a little extra money, you know. 
He probably bribed somebody, and Nick will be 
happy enough. Trust the two of them to make 
their way ! ” 

He paused, in some slight embarrassment how to 
go on. 


WAYS AND MEANS 


125 

“ I am glad to hear it,” said Petty-Zou sweetly. 
“ And now, how much do I owe you ? ” 

“ I haven’t made out my bill yet,” said he, twink- 
ling. “ It’s only decent to wait six months or a 
year.” 

“ That’s professional,” said she. “ Remember 
the humble position of Bumpus and myself. We 
pay cash.” 

This was very fine talk when one considers that 
she did not own ten shillings in the world. 

“ Wait till the week’s up then,” he pretended to 
humour her. 

“ It would be a convenience, however,” said she, 
“ to be told the exact sum now.” 

“ I’m sorry to inconvenience you ; but I really do 
not know,” said he firmly. 

“ But you must know. Add it up. How much 
was the passage? ” 

He made a feint at calculation, then announced 
gravely : “ Something under twenty pounds. Now 
drop it, will you? ” 

She smiled : “ I am most grateful to you for — 
for everything. And if you will kindly have the 
exact statement ready to-morrow . . 

“ I am going abroad to-morrow,” said he ; and 
something in voice and manner told the astute, 
much-observing Eleanor that the excuse was in- 
vented as it was uttered. 

“ Morning or evening?” asked Petty-Zou, ex- 
amining a row of four pieces to see if they could 


126 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


possibly be conjured into the under part of a sleeve. 

“ Morning,” said he. “ I’ll send it on to you.” 

She shook her head : “ I shall not be able to sleep 
nights until I have paid every penny for Bumpus. 
I would not share him with anyone — poor ill-used 
brother who can’t live where he wants to! Least 
of all, with you who thinks him a — ugh, I can’t say 
the word ! ” 

“ But Petty-Zou,” began Eleanor, her sense of 
justice interfering, “you know . . .” 

“ What I know, Eleanor,” said Petty-Zou very 
gently, “ is less important than what I feel.” 

“ In that case,” observed Lord Wharton, “ better 
open all the asylums and prisons.” 

She was touched to fire at once. “ And so I 
would ! ” she cried. “ The whole system is wrong 
from beginning to end. . . Then she saw 

his little device to draw her away from the point, 
and added: “ We won’t talk of that now; but how 
about your plan of refunding to the trades-people ? ” 

“My plan?” said he. “I must have been as 
mad as the Hatter when I proposed it.” 

“ Thank you,” said she demurely. “ I proposed 
it; but you seemed to fall in with it. Still, if you 
don’t think it practicable . . 

He took her in all seriousness : “ No, I don’t think 
it practicable. Of course, it’s an unholy place, this 
world, but it wouldn’t do to right all the wrongs at 
once, you know. W e must leave some work for the 
next generation.” 


WAYS AND MEANS 


127 


Soon after, he arose to go. 

“ Nine o’clock to-morrow — here? ” she said. 

He nodded : “ It’s always pleasant to have another 
chance of seeing you. I’ll come and talk it over 
with you as long as you like — at least, until train- 
time. The outcome will depend upon — various 
things.” Eleanor fancied that she read some con- 
sciousness of one of Petty-Zou’s foibles in his eyes. 
“ The late Petty-Zou,” Larry sometimes called her. 

His eyes twinkled more than ever as he added: 
“ What if I have not the proper change? ” 

“ Then you can send it later,” said she. “ I hate 
to have money on my mind ! ” 

“ So you heap it up on my conscience ? ” he sug- 
gested. 

“ You can always unload it on some of your 
subscription-lists,” was the taunt she flung after him 
as he departed. 

As Petty-Zou resumed her seat, forgetful of a lit- 
tle shower of silk bits that she had scattered when 
she rose, Eleanor asked, with a degree of awe-struck 
admiration : “ And how are you going to raise 
twenty pounds by nine o’clock to-morrow morn- 
ing?” 

“ Haven’t a notion,” said Petty-Zou flippantly, 
reaching for her cigarettes; but after she had 
smoked a little, she added : “ It shall be done, 
however.” 

“ I hoped,” said the romantic Eleanor, with a sigh, 
“ that you had lately come into a legacy or some- 


128 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


thing, and had forgotten to mention it. It would 
be just like you.” 

“ No legacy,” says Petty-Zou, watching smoke- 
rings in a most bird-like attempt at masculinity. 
“This is a wonderful aid to reflection — smoking, 
I mean. I shall find the way soon. But never take 
to cigarettes, Eleanor; you’ll repent if you do. Be- 
sides, it comes expensive. I think I must have had 
a great-grandmother who lived with a pipe. I shall 
tell — that, some day.” The omission of the name 
was most peculiar. “ Or it might have been an 
Indian — yes, I think it was an Indian. That’s why 
I get a fever sometimes for the great spaces where 
there are no tracks of men. I’ve knocked all the 
long feathers off my wings beating against my 
cage. "What were we talking about? Oh, that 
money . . . Yes, there’s only the one way. It 

must be faced.” 

She rose and brought from behind a tapestry that 
concealed a packing-case-cupboard in her bedroom, 
her best grey coat and skirt and an expensive grey 
hat with ostrich plumes. 

“ What now ? ” groaned Eleanor, folding up the 
unfinished blouse. 

“ I’m going a-begging. I mean — well, it’s the 
same thing — collecting the money that’s due to 
me. I shall persuade and frighten people into pay- 
ing up. You’ll see. Mercy on us! The bills I 
have out ! ” 

“ It won’t do you a mite of good,” said Eleanor 


WAYS AND MEANS 


129 


vigorously. “ For if you think you are going to 
wheedle that man into taking a penny of your hard- 
earned money, you are mistaken, madam. You 
may as well argue with your purse empty. Why, 
Petty-Zou, I’m not blind. . . 

“ There need be no argument,” said Petty-Zou. 
“ Besides, he promised — ” 

Eleanor laughed : “ Oh, resign yourself ; it will 
be the shortest way out. He isn’t giving the money 
to you. But don’t adopt any more Bumpuses unless 
you wish a repetition of this.” 

“ No,” said Petty-Zou, with red spots in her 
cheeks, “he isn't giving the money to me. And 
now I’ll just be off.” 

But she had to wait for that tiresome Eleanor, 
who restrained her by sheer force of will, long 
enough to produce a second coat and hat, vowing 
her intention of hanging over area-railings in readi- 
ness to call a policeman, while her dear Petty-Zou 
was facing plutocratic tigers within their gilded 
lairs. 


CHAPTER XVI 


IN QUEST OF GOLD 

It was a trudge, nothing less than a trudge, in the 
West End, that occupied the two women until long 
past their usual dinner-hour. There were times 
when they might have made use of vehicles; but 
both were in the mood for remembering that one 
’bus ride was just over a penny fare, or another 
meant a ridiculously roundabout course, or a third 
was not worth more than a ha’penny, and there 
were no ha’penny fares on that line. So they 
walked in the twilight from one brilliantly illumi- 
nated house to another; and Eleanor, true to her 
word, manifested great interest in the hours of 
collecting letters at the pillar-boxes on the corners, 
in the church notices (if a church stood near) or in 
the botany of the laurels and rhododendrons along 
the palings, or in window-curtains, or in posters, or 
in anything convenient. Once or twice, she at- 
tracted the momentary notice of a constable by a 
vigorous tattoo of hands and feet, necessary to con- 
tinue circulation. 

At first, Petty-Zou came out saying “ Better luck 
next time;” but after this phrase had acquired a 
certain monotony, she changed it to a speculative, 
130 


IN QUEST OF GOLD. 


131 

“ I wonder if it would be more impressive to hire a 
cab? But the curtains are all drawn and they 
mightn’t hear.” By this time it was fully dark. 

Presently she took to mimicking her patrons, and 
quiet streets echoed to the bubble of Eleanor’s laugh- 
ter, as some great lady was swished through the 
mazes of circumlocution by which she had avoided 
turning over a pound or two of the money that she 
herself so urgently required for other Christmas 
presents for which payment could not be indefinite- 
ly postponed. 

“ Come, come,” said Petty-Zou later, her face 
very bright under a street-lamp, “ we are getting on. 
Listen.” She clinked gold in her purse. “ You 
shall dine with me to-night.” 

Then followed an interval during which she as- 
sured Eleanor that she never said die; and became 
tenderly solicitous of her friend’s toes and fingers. 
And at last, when they came out in upper Oxford 
Street and perceived that it was nearly eight o’clock, 
she seized Eleanor’s arm : “ Come, let us rest and 
count up our gains. Where shall we dine ? ” 

But Eleanor for once was wilful, and steered the 
two of them into the nearest ABC or Express 
Dairy or some such place ; and ordered one poached 
egg on toast and a glass of hot milk apiece for 
them. Presumably Petty-Zou was too tired and 
disheartened to show fight. She sat very still and 
silent, studying the announcement that no gratuities 
must be offered to the attendants. Eleanor touched 


132 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


her on the arm, thinking active pain better than this 
passive despair: “We never say die, you know. 
Count it quick; the dinner will be coming.” 

They were alone in a quiet corner ; and Petty-Zou 
presently looked up with a brighter face : “ There’s 
£7.12.6 — more than I thought; only £13 to raise.” 

“ How much ought you to have had? ” Eleanor 
ventured to ask. 

“1 think about £15 for the things finished, and 
perhaps £8 or £9 for orders, which might have been 
advanced if the people had been polite — bless them ! 
But only two paid up in full ; and they made me so 
ashamed because their things were ordered last. 
Several others gave me something on account; but 
the oldest, longest-standing ones looked put out be- 
cause I reminded them. I wasn’t nice to them in 
the end,” said Petty-Zou pensively, “ so I don’t 
suppose I shall ever hear anything more.” 

“ What could they say ? ” demanded Eleanor, in 
her indignation chopping a great gash in her egg. 

“ Why, they mostly said they would send me a 
cheque by the next post; but we know what that 
means, my dear. I told one woman she’d promised 
me that four times in the last year. She was very 
sweet — said she had a shocking memory but would 
really make a note of it to-night. We shall see.” 

“ Eat your egg,” said Eleanor, choking back her 
contempt for the creature. You need it, I’m 
sure.” 

“ Another said, people were always so poor just 


IN QUEST OF GOLD 


133 


about Christmas time, weren’t they ? She was sadly 
overdrawn, but she was sure she could manage 
something by January. Nearly all her presents this 
year are things I have been making for her, these 
last months. It’s the way of the world, I suppose.” 

“ That’s being a professional woman, my dear. 
You’d better marry.” 

Petty-Zou picked at the fringes of her nourish- 
ment. “ I toss you back your own words.” 

Eleanor went red : “ I haven’t been asked.” 

“ You would be — if you’d allow it. But you’re 
both afraid of starvation I take it. You’d save one 
rent if you did ; and couldn’t two live on two pounds 
a week better than one on seven shillings and six- 
pence ? ” 

“ Larry earns more than two pounds!” said 
Eleanor, with spirit. 

“ And you less than seven-and-sixpence at pres- 
ent. Well, it would even things up a bit. Don’t 
be too proud while you’re young.” 

The cool audacity of this took Eleanor’s breath. 
“You!” she said, when she could speak. “You 
lecture me on being proud!” She drowned her 
emotion in hot milk. 

“ Why not ? ” said Petty-Zou serenely. “ I’m 
not proud myself. Do you think I’d go trapesing 
all about the West End, collecting my property, if 
I were proud? Eleanor, it has almost soured me a 
little, this performance. One or two — what do 
you think they said ? It was — yes, on considera- 


134 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


tion, I call it unkind. They greeted me ever so 
politely, and said of course, and how sorry they 
were it had slipped their minds, and apologized, 
until I began to be so relieved and glad because 
they both owed me big sums, and I thought we 
should do very well. Then one of them sent for her 
purse and found she had nothing less than a £10 
note — could I change it? And when I just looked 
at her, she said she’d send her maid out at once, and 
laid her hand on the bell. Then she stopped and 
said, on second thoughts, where could one get change 
for such a large sum at that time of night, and did 
I think it would be quite safe to let the woman go 
out alone, and besides the poor thing had such a 
shocking cold ... I hadn’t observed any trace 
of it when she brought the purse. . . .” 

“ What did you do ? ” asked Eleanor, with a hard 
grip of her knife-handle. 

Petty-Zou’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes 
starry with a sudden pleasant remembrance. She 
laughed, clapping her hands softly together : “ I’m 

glad I had so much sense, Eleanor. What do you 
think? I made her my best bow, and I said: 
‘ Madam, any one of these excuses is sufficient. I 
beg that you will accept the trifle as a gift.’ Then I 
was out of the room before she could say a word.” 

Here Petty-Zou gave Eleanor no chance for an 
observation. She continued meditatively : “ The 

other woman didn’t go to the trouble of sending for 
her purse. But by that time I was prepared for the 


135 


IN QUEST OF GOLD 

farce, so I thought I’d give her a little scare when 
the question of change arose; I opened my bag 
and made a great ado turning over papers. * I 
ought to be able to manage it/ says I — which, Elea- 
nor, my dear, was very true. I believe I kept her 
on the rack quite two minutes, wondering what she 
should say if I produced the proper sum. I was 
sure — even I, poor little fool — that she had not 
the money at all. She looked at me straight, 
through a glass mask — you know the way? Oh, 
she’s a pretentious woman ! But in the end, I said 
very loftily that I could not do it, and we’d better 
let the matter drop, as I was sure her maid would 
have a cold, or ought not to venture out alone so 
late at night, and of course all the footmen would 
be too busy to accompany her. She might just post 
me a cheque if she remembered ; and in any case, I 
wished her a very happy Christmas. I couldn’t 
help it,” concluded Petty-Zou, with half a sigh and 
a trace of a dimple. “ C’est moi — qa.” 

And Eleanor said to herself that truer word was 
never spoken; but she had the grace to forbear ut- 
terance of her opinion. 

“If it had been the Countess a-begging,” said 
Petty-Zou, when their dinner was finished, “ she 
would have been rained upon by gold-pieces. She 
could have collected six such sums in half the time 
for any one of her charities. She has the gift of 
magnetising sovereigns out of people’s pockets.” 

“ It makes a difference whether one is asking for 


136 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 

one’s self,” said Eleanor, with the wisdom born of 
experience. 

“ Yes,” said Petty-Zou. “And I lack tact. Or 
rather Sidonia does; and I’m glad of it! She has 
to hold down that sly cat Tyrrhena sometimes and 
hammer her when she longs for things so much 
that she will stoop for them.” 

Then Eleanor struck home : “ Such as paying 

honourable gentlemen money that ihey don’t want 
— simply to be annoying.” 

Petty-Zou was already at the door looking out 
for ’buses. “ You are quite mistaken,” said she. 
“ That is Sidonia’s little game ; Tyrrhena is dis- 
gusted with her. Here’s ours. Come along.” 

Eleanor grabbed her arm : “ Mercy on us — no ! 

We must walk to the Circus — it’s only a few steps; 
and we shall save a penny each.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE LITTLE GODS HAVE AN AIRING 

Eleanor Lane was scarcely up, the next morning, 
before she heard Petty-Zou chirruping at her door. 

Admitted, she was seen to have a round covered 
basket on her arm. This she deposited and said, 
with an air of unimpeachable firmness : “ I told 

you I should find a way; and I have done so. I 
dreamed it out in the night. The little gods have 
got to go.” 

“ Oh, Petty-Zou, not that ! ” cried Eleanor. 

“ Yes. Not for ever, you know. Only for a lit- 
tle visit. My bald-headed Jew will be kind to them. 
And they ought to raise a lot of money. Oh, it’s 
all settled. Why should they hang about idle and 
be of no use whatever ?” 

“ I have been thinking it over,” said Eleanor, 
brushing her hair hard, “ and I’ve got £2.10 that I 
don’t want for a week or two, not till I buy my new 
coat and skirt. And Larry, I think, is flush just 
now. Then if we could pawn something — but not 
the little gods — oh, Petty-Zou, think of the risk ! ” 

“ There’s no risk,” said Petty-Zou stoutly. “ No 
more than in Erasmus House, if once I get them 
there safely. But I must be off. What I came up 
137 


138 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


for was this. It’s past eight o’clock, and I’m afraid 
of being late. I was up early but it took such a 
time to pack them properly.” 

She paused. And Eleanor, glancing down at the 
basket, seemed to penetrate its white cover and see 
the shining of tears not their own on some of the 
little immortal faces. 

“ Oh, Petty-Zou dear, do give up ! ” she pleaded 
again. “ You are cruel to us all in your ob- 
stinacy ! ” 

“ In anything else I might,” said Petty-Zou; “ but 
this is a debt of honour. Eleanor, I am surprised 
at you . . . You only waste my time and keep 

me away from my point. I want you to take your 
work up to my room, so that, if by any chance, I 
should be a minute or two late — it would be ex- 
asperatingly like him to come early — you can keep 
him till I return. Eleanor, I shall not be able to 
forgive you, if he gets away without being paid, 
through your fault. Remember now — I trust to 
your honour.” 

She caught up her basket, threatening the safety 
of its contents, and hurried away. Eleanor, being 
half-dressed, could not follow, even to say that she 
shirked the responsibility. 

She considered hard while she ate her breakfast, 
pondered the advisability of dropping a note into 
Larry’s letter-box; and finally did exactly as she 
was ordered to do by her imperious neighbour. But 
she was too nervous even to sew at the blouse, and 


LITTLE GODS HAVE AN AIRING 139 


made only spasmodic feints at stitches, with spas- 
modic pokings at the fire, and frantic little runs to 
see what the bedroom clock was saying. She even 
attempted a rearrangement of the pottery; but it 
looked so altogether forlorn and unnatural without 
its host of small divinities, that any meddling made 
it seem worse. 

Her heart gave a leap when she heard a knock 
before the hour had struck; and she made a detour 
into the bedroom to see how long she must be pre- 
pared to hold the reluctant visitor before Petty-Zou 
might be expected back. Seven minutes, not less 
— Petty-Zou’s time was usually fast — she must en- 
gage in a mental tussle with the man whom her 
romantic spirit was pleased to term Petty-Zou’s fate, 
or forfeit forever her little friend’s good opinion. 
It was a serious matter, beyond a doubt. 

Lord Wharton was naturally surprised to see 
Eleanor’s face at the door. 

“You will come in?” she said invitingly, hop- 
ing to gain a minute or two, although but for Petty- 
Zou’s threat, she would have preferred that he 
should escape according to his desire. It seemed to 
her to offer a better chance for reconciliation and 
the happy ending. 

“ I am sorry — I have very little time,” he warned 
her. “ And I think I may claim to have kept my 
part of the agreement.” 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I understand,” and offered 
a hospitable chair. 


140 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


He was not to be beguiled. “ She is out ? You 
have a message for me ? ” he surmised. 

“ Yes,” said Eleanor. “ Oh, yes.” But she was 
at a loss how to begin. “If you would sit 
down . . .” 

“ Afraid I can’t stop.” Well, he had an hour 
to spare; his haste was absurd and undignified, she 
told herself. “ I promised to come,” said he, “ but 
not to wait. You can imagine how annoying all 
this is to me. It is not the first time . . .” He 

stopped short in his recital; and Eleanor supposed 
that he was remembering other quarrels in the past. 

“ You see,” was the good friend’s plea, “ she 
asked me to keep you; she will never forgive me if 
I let you go now. You must stay on my account.” 

“ On no account,” said he, consulting his watch. 
“ I had intended — but this is a lucky chance. Rude 
as it seems, I must ask you to be the victim. As to 
the never ” — he smiled. “ I’m going to run away,” 
he added hurriedly. “ Miss Coverdale has yet to 
learn that it is not always possible to thrust what she 
considers their rights down other people’s throats. 
Tell her so, with my greetings.” 

“ Oh, please ! ” called Eleanor ; but he was out 
of hearing down the stairway. She was left to 
speculate how he would have acted, had he met 
Petty-Zou as he had every reason to expect ; and to 
wonder how she might pacify that angry little 
woman when she returned from her useless sacrifice. 

She thought so hard that she was amazed, upon 


LITTLE GODS HAVE AN AIRING 141 


another visit to the clock, to find that the hand was 
close upon ten. 

She returned to the pottery to find Petty-Zou 
just setting her basket on the work-table and drap- 
ing the Throne with her ancient military cape. 

She was unruffled and by no means breathless 
with haste. 

“ You are late enough/’ began Eleanor, to prompt 
inquiry. 

“ Yes,” she said. “ But I saved nearly half 
from the wreck. I had the sense to bring them out 
one by one; or the creature wouldn’t have offered 
me anything. He had no sense of their value. 
However, we did very well in the end.” 

“ You do not ask ” — faltered Eleanor. 

“ Ah, no — I met him.” 

“ And paid—?” 

“ But of course ! ” 

Eleanor dropped on the coal-box that tried to be 
a settle : “ Poor thing ! I am sorry for him ! ” 

She was a little contemptuous, to tell the truth, to 
find that he had been outwitted by Petty-Zou into 
acceptance of the money. However, she wanted to 
hear the whole story. 

“ The rooms still look murderously bare,” said 
Petty-Zou, trying to rearrange the remnant of her 
divinities so as to make the absence of the others 
less conspicuous. 

“ What happened ? ” asked Eleanor, losing all 
control of the tip of her tongue. 


142 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“Happened? Nothing. It is quite all right.” 

“ He took the money? ” 

“ Like a lamb. To be honest, he looked mightily 
pleased. I don’t understand — ” 

“ There’s a mystery in it,” said Eleanor. “ Tell 
me — tell me quick — everything from the very 
beginning — ” 

“ And so I would, if you didn’t interrupt me all 
the time,” admonished Petty-Zou. “ As I said, my 
Jew-man paid up very well on the whole. Oh, but 
he has a beautiful set of old Wedgewood in his 
window! Some poor wretch must be heartbroken 
over the loss of it. I wish I could afford to get it 
out and return it secretly — ” 

“ Petty-Zou, I should like to shake you ! ” cried 
the exasperated listener. 

She did not seem to hear. Her eyes were fixed 
thoughtfully, unseeingly upon the window : “ I’ll 

tell you, Eleanor ; I’ve got it ! I found there was a 
surplus, and I’ve been wondering what to do with 
it. I shall put it aside and give the children a tree 
for their Christmas party. I think you must take 
charge of it, to make sure that I don’t use it for 
something else. Where was I ? ” 

“ Heaven knows, not I ! ” was the discouraged 
answer. 

“ I know. I was racing along The Marsh at a 
great pace — the clock was just on the stroke, but I 
thought you could be trusted to keep him five min- 
utes at least. And I nearly trusted in vain — O 


LITTLE GODS HAVE AN AIRING 143 


Eleanor! However, I was just opposite Angel Al- 
ley when I saw a tall man that looked like him com- 
ing from this direction. I darted into the Alley, 
of course — ” 

“ With your purse in your pocket and full of 
money ? Angel Alley ! Oh, you little — ” 

“ Idiot ! ” supplemented Petty-Zom “ There 
wasn’t so much risk in daylight. And it was the 
only short cut to Innocents’ Lane. And why do 
you think he turned down into the Lane ? He com 
fessed it after. He had seen me, 1 and was trying to 
get away. But he might have taken a cab or any- 
thing! So I was wise in the end.” 

“ Go on,” said Eleanor resignedly. “We shall 
come out somewhere, I suppose.” 

“Of course, he thought I’d continue to walk 
Christianly along the broad way — no, its the nar- 
row path they take, isn’t it? Well, he expected me 
to walk respectably along The Marsh, never dream- 
ing that I could be as sharp-sighted as himself; so 
we nearly ran into each other in that disreputable 
back street . . . What a pretty brown your 

hair is, Eleanor; but it is turning a little grey, you 
know. Plenty of exercise — ” 

“ And then ? And then ? ” cried the listener, 
avoiding untimely caresses. 

“ Well, I’m sure that if I’m so cool about the 
whole affair, there’s no need for you to get ex- 
cited,” said Petty-Zou, with a trace of offence. 

“ I want to know whether you paid him pub- 


144 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


licly under all those peeping eyes of the Lane — be- 
cause if you did, you’ll be waylaid and thrown into 
the Thames some day for the enormous wealth 
you are believed to carry about.” 

“ The difficulty was that I had stuck my purse 
horizontally into my pocket so that I might ktiow 
if anybody tried to steal it; and my left hand was 
busy keeping the cape over my basket. Not that 
he would have had any right to notice; but I didn’t 
want him even to think thoughts — ” 

“I see,” said Eleanor. “ What happened?” 

“ I wish you wouldn’t hurry me ” — Petty-Zou 
became plaintive and lessened the speed of her ex- 
planation. “ I seem to remember an age of talking 
while he edged round me to get away, and I held 
his eye, all the while I was wrestling with that — 
that damned purse ! — there — I feel better now ! 
I must have been red. I wonder what he thought. 
Anyway, he was on the point of rapping out that 
he must be off, when I found the only thing to do. 
I said : 4 Oh, if you have a little time, would you 

mind taking me as far as the Embankment under 
the Hospital? I feel rather nervous here; but 
I shall be quite all right from there on/ 

“ He looked at me as if he wanted to ask why 
I had gone that way if I was timid ; then he glanced 
at his watch and said he could spare me ten min- 
utes. I knew that would do if I was brisk.” 
r “ If he had refused? ” interrupted Eleanor. 

“ I had made up my mind to that. I should have 


LITTLE GODS HAVE AN AIRING 145 


set the basket on a door-step, and clutched him with 
one hand, while I raked out the purse with the 
other . . . However, I manoeuvred successful- 

ly, though he wriggled mentally all the way. 

“ Five minutes later, we were on the Hospital 
Embankment, under Lambeth Bridge. ‘ Now are 
you safe?’ said he, with his eye on a cab waiting 
for custom. 

“ ‘ Almost/ said I, dropping on a bench. He 
looked as if he were on the point of dropping too; 
but remembered his cab and turned away. There 
came a sudden gust of wind that blinded me a mo- 
ment; but I had my purse and was pulling it out 
while he hesitated. Oh, but this is the worst part, 
Eleanor — this I cannot tell ! Do you know, when 
that gale blew up so suddenly, it reminded me of 
poor dear Bumpus — I hope he isn’t seasick ! And 
Old Nick too. I’m sure a dog must have a very 
bad time of it when he is seasick; and when he 
was so plucky . . .” 

“ Petty-Zou, I am alarmed for your reason. 
What happened when the gnat came ? ” 

“ Only the basket,” said Petty-Zou, in a tone of 
despair. “ The wind blew my cape open, and he 
knew at once what was in it, for that horrid Isis 
had stuck out a blue arm through ever so many 
layers of cotton-wool ... He sat down then 
and looked at me hard, and said : ‘ You might 

have let me carry it.’ Fancy a lord carrying a bas- 
ketful of little gods down Innocents’ Lane! . . . 


146 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


Eleanor, if I could have lied, I should not have 
hesitated. It was a time for lying. Why, I sup- 
pose I did lie. I said ‘ I have been giving some of 
the little dears a change of air.’ And he answered: 

‘ So I observe,’ or something of the sort. I flew 
into a rage and crammed all the notes in a bunch 
into his hand ... He had to take them or 
see them blow away . . . He was very red, 

and did not speak until — - 1 don’t mind telling you, 
Eleanor — I was a wee bit frightened, and didn’t 
know what to do or say; so I told him he’d better 
count them to see that there were just four — And 
he could keep the change, if he liked, for his trou- 
ble, or give it to somebody . . . Eleanor, he 
did look down and count, and all of a sudden his 
face took on such a strange expression — almost 
greedy, and he laughed — fairly chuckled — and 
pulled out his pocketbook in a great hurry, almost 
as if he were afraid I might repent and ask to have 
some of the money back, and said very well, thanks, 
that, if I didn’t mind, he would keep the change, as 
a small compensation for the bother he had had 
. . . It was such an extraordinary speech, Elea- 
nor, so unlike him . . . Do you think — ? Do 

people ever turn suddenly insane ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t suppose he was insane,” said Elea- 
nor shrewdly, “ but I haven’t got to the bottom of 
the matter yet. What did he do next ? ” 

Petty-Zou hung her head : “ He tried to take 

my hand and said some silly thing about a shabby 


LITTLE GODS HAVE AN AIRING 147 


little glove. I told him it was quite fine enough 
to pay shabby money to shabby people who made no 
end of fuss about nothing by trying to have the ob- 
ligation all on the other person’s side.” 

“ O Petty-Zou, your tongue, your tongue ! ” 
groaned Eleanor. “ And then ? ” 

“ Then he said he was only trying to say good- 
bye, because there was no telling when he would 
return; and he walked away, of course, and took 
the cab. And I came home.” 

She began to hum : “ I loved my lass for a day 

— oh, a day!” 

“ And you don’t know where he is going? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ Perhaps he missed the train? ” 

“ He said he should have time enough. 

“ And you didn’t encourage him to stay ? ” 

" Encourage him? Why should I? Bless the 
girl! I hope — I hope he’ll — enjoy himself — 
wherever he is.” 

She dropped into the Throne as one suddenly 
tired : “ Go away, Eleanor. Go away — quick ! 

Eleanor, why don’t you go? I can’t . . . I’m 

going to . . .” The storm overcame her 

words. 

Instantly Eleanor was kneeling, with such com- 
fort as she dared offer. 

Presently Petty-Zou was quiet enough to lift her 
head : “ I never dreamed I . . . should miss 

the . . . little gods so much . . 


148 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ Be honest, Petty-Zou, be honest,” urged Elea- 
nor. 

“ I do . . . miss them,” breathed Petty-Zou. 

“And as for anything else, I . . . was only 

doing my . . . dud . . . dud . . . 

duty . . ” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE LITTLE GODS COME HOME 

And nothing happened until Christmas! Petty? 
Zou was working hard, but she was not happy in her 
toil, for she missed — the little gods, I would say, 
sadly. 

But still she had her Christmas Tree for the 
children; and out of the relics of her money she 
had nearly bought up her heart’s desires and theirs 
for all the poor folk up and down the street. Her 
bounty overflowed Erasmus House and spread like 
a tide into the neighbouring tenements, rising high- 
est where Hunger shouldered close, or Sickness lay 
on a cold hearth, or Out-of-Work whistled on his 
fingers . . . And how much remained to her 

when she had done, she did not know, nor do I. 

The party was held in the pottery on Christmas 
Eve; and when it was over, Petty-Zou went to bed 
with that warm glow about the heart that comes of 
filling other people’s desires to the brim. Her last 
waking thought was a chuckle to the effect that she 
had forgotten all about buying herself a Christmas 
dinner. 

Early on Christmas morning, all Erasmus House 
149 


150 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


was about not quite as usual but whistling and with 
a sprig of holly in its buttonhole; for even those 
who had neglected to join a “ Club ” in time, were 
sure of an overflow from their neighbours’ good 
cheer. 

Petty-Zou’s knocker rattled first to the hand of 
Eleanor who came in with an apron-full of treas- 
ures; and Petty-Zou chirruped with her so gaily 
that there was no guessing how heavy upon her 
heart lay the loss of — the little gods? 

O the dear funny presents! They were near 
crying more than once — even as they gloated — 
these silly women ! Old Seascale, who employs his 
leisure hours in wickerwork, had made each a beau- 
tiful work-basket, with her name interwoven in 
colours. The McCallahans had come out strong in 
sample scent-bottles, Opopottax and Jockey Club . 
Danny Wale had slipped under their doors two last 
year’s cards as good as new, acquired — the Lord 
knows where and how; but it did not matter in the 
least that one contained the compliments of the 
season from Mr. and Mrs. W. Smuggles, and the 
other, the best wishes of Mr. Oliver Prigworthy. 
Danny’s writing on the envelopes was sufficient evi- 
dence of their source. 

Before they had finished turning over their lap- 
fuls, a queer little chirp or whistle on the landing 
made Petty-Zou run; and there stood Pip confi- 
dently expecting a warm reception, and apparently 
on his guard lest something break in the process. 


LITTLE GODS COME HOME 151 


He walked gingerly, hugging himself and resenting 
all interference, until he reached the table, where he 
remarked that Petty-Zou might unbutton his jacket 
if she would be very careful. Then appeared tangi- 
ble evidence that the Lemons were members of the 
Christmas Club at the Setting Sun, in the shape 
of two bottles of stout, buttoned carefully in for 
greater ease of conveyance. One was inscribed: 
Elth and Prusparrity; the other, “ Best Whishes for 
Cris — the paper did not run to mas. 

Then further Pip had for Petty-Zou a rainbow- 
hued lamp-mat made by himself — a coiled snake 
in wool-work done on a reel and four pins ; and for 
Eleanor he brought out a laboriously-saved farth- 
ing. “ You can buy what you likes,” said he gra- 
ciously, “ but there’s animal sweets what you can 
get two for that. I most did; but muvver said 
maybe you’d rawer have a box o’ matches or some- 
fink. But you can keep it.” 

Scarcely had Pip departed when there came a 
gentle but unmistakable kick at the door. Opened, 
this revealed Rose-Mary, anxiously frowning, with 
a heavy plate balanced on each hand. 

“ ’Scuse my kickin’, miss,” said she, “ as you 
can see for yourself.” 

She advanced with a suggestion of her father’s 
step as he marches out in the line to go on duty; 
and placed on the settle two works of art, after- 
wards retreating, with her hands on her hips, to 
gaze at them with patent admiration. “ There ! ” 


152 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


says she, and looks to the women to make chorus. 
One plate contained a small plum-pudding set 
round with sausages, a roll of butter on a pile of 
crumpets and a fat piece of cake; the other a pork 
pie buttressed with shining apples, a handful of 
chestnuts and a small pot of jelly. 

“ Mother sends complements and best respecks 
and a slice of goose each to come when it were 
cooked as she was sure of their country taste 
which they came in a hamper packed by my Aunt 
Rosa Gunglewick and she made them herself which 
you wasn’t to mind about bein’ in no hurry in 
returnin’ of the dishes.” 

Upon this great speech, she bolted, breathless; 
but after closing the door, opened it again and 
thrust her head in to say, “ With sage and onion 
stuffin’ ” — and so vanished. 

“ Our dinner, dear,” said Petty-Zou. “ Did I 
tell you I had forgotten all about mine? You see 
what neighbours are.” 

In the afternoon, they two walked out together in 
the clear, frosty sunlight; but on Westminster 
Bridge they met none other than Larry O’Neil 
alone, feeding the gulls with a bit of bread. 

In view of a little fact that Larry had told on 
his way upstairs the night before, her light being 
still ablaze, Petty-Zou slipped quietly away and left 
the two together. Hamlet, after a bibulous supper 
party had sprained his ankle, getting into a 
cab; and his understudy had a chance at last. 


LITTLE GODS COME HOME 153 


Larry had plainly implied that he meant to speak 
before he was again reduced to the position of a 
mere courtier. 

All the way home, she thought about the two 
young things and their little day of romance; and 
she remembered how, from the very first of her 
acquaintance with Larry, when she had saved him 
from a dose of prussic acid because his brogue 
had been too strong for the part of Polonius, she 
had always prophesied his future greatness. Well, 
happiness be theirs anyway . . . She felt very 

tired and old and lonely as she made her way 
slowly up her own stairway. 

She must have sat a long while a-thinking, for it 
was near gas-lighting time when there came a rap 
on her door, not loud, or soft, or friendly, or pite- 
ous, but simply business-like. She opened to a 
commissionaire carrying a fair-sized wooden box. 

“ No mistake in the name, mum,” said he, in an- 
swer to her doubt, “ but there has been a delay, 
owing to Christmas.” 

She was still hunting for matches in the dusk, 
when Eleanor came running in with her secret writ- 
ten all over her face. 

Petty-Zou could not forbear a tiny sarcasm, when 
she saw the ring : “ The young man showed no 

lack of assurance, my dear ! ” 

“ But,” said Eleanor, “ it was his mother’s ! And 
he’s gone hungry many a time rather than pawn it.” 

Then Petty-Zou was very sweet to her for a mo- 


154 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


ment; and to hide her own tears picked up the old 
Venetian dagger with which to pry open Her box. 

“ It looks like a lovely present/’ began Eleanor, 
and stopped with an abrupt — “ Oh ! ” A most fa- 
miliar little arm was revealed with the first strip- 
ping away of the packing stuff. 

“ The darlings ! ” cried Petty-Zou, with a great 
catch in her breath. “ Home again ! ” She hugged 
the box close a moment. 

But at Eleanor’s puzzled, “ How in the world ? ” 
her forehead darkened and she repeated, “Yes — 
how?” 

“ Where is your pawn-ticket ? ” asked Eleanor. 

“ In my purse, of course.” 

“ Is it? Go look,” insisted Eleanor. 

And when Petty-Zou, after a search that grew 
more frantic as it proceeded, said with pale lips, 
“ It isn’t there ! ” the astute Eleanor held up a card 
that she had found in the first lot of packing re- 
moved, and observed : “ You know whose this is 

without looking. And the ticket must have been 
among those £5 notes you gave him on the Hospital 
Embankment ! ” 

“ I never looked ! ” moaned Petty-Zou, hiding her 
face. “ What shall I do ? What shall I do ? ” 

“ I think,” suggested Eleanor timidly, “ that you 
might have the grace to take them as a Christmas 
present.” 

But Petty-Zou was apparently not yet conquered. 
She said : “ I could do one of two things ; either 


LITTLE GODS COME HOME 


i55 


send them as they are to his rooms in St. James, or 
in the care of the Countess; or take them back to 
the Jew and get the money to post on to him. ,, 

“ That would seem to me,” said Eleanor, with 
courageous conviction, “ to be at once ungrateful 
and ungracious.” 

“ Then I am both,” admitted Petty-Zou. “ But 
don’t you see that I can’t let him pay for the mis- 
chief I get into ? ” 

As Eleanor shook her head, laughing, she 
changed the topic with a sudden : “ Do you know 

Eleanor, I’ve had the feeling for days that that 
ticket was not in my purse; and I never dared to 
look until you made me. But I never thought that 
I had given it to him. I seemed to see it lying on 
that blotting-pad in the horrid little room at the 
pawnbroker’s; and it worried me rather, because I 
couldn’t remember picking it up. I intended to look 
after Boxing Day, and then if I found it gone, de- 
cide what to do. But I never thought of this ” 

“ Poor dear ! ” said Eleanor. “ How you must 
have worried ! ” 

“ Not very much,” answered Petty-Zou. “ I 
knew they’d turn up again. I always know when 
things are lost for altogether.” 

“ I’m afraid I should have cried my eyes out,” 
insisted Eleanor. 

“ Silly girl ! You must learn not to take things 
so hard. You’ll be merrier as you grow old.” 

“ I wonder ? ” said Eleanor. “ Sometimes I 


156 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


think you know how to be happy, Petty-Zou; and 
then again . . /’ 

“ Happy?” said Petty-Zou. “ Of course I do. 
For all that I have lost, something remains — sun- 
shine, people, children, animals, flowers, work, free- 
dom . . 

“ Freedom ?” said Eleanor softly. “ But that 
doesn’t count for much when you might have — 
things so much better ! ” 

Petty-Zou distinctly evaded this issue as she said : 
“Of course, we can’t be exactly as we’d like. We’re 
all limited in qualities, but not as far as I can see 
in quantities. I’ve got to be me, so my only chance 
is to be as much me as I can. And after all, there 
isn’t any time or space except as we have invented 
them — little measuring-rods to show us where we 
are. All that really exists is everything being it- 
self as hard as it can, and as happy as possible! 
That’s my philosophy. Live in your shell of a body 
that God gave you — or your parents — and when 
you are done with it, slough merrily, and be ready 
for the next thing/’ 

“ Oh, but when I look about the world,” objected 
Eleanor. 

“ Don’t,” said Petty-Zou. “ Look at Pip. I al- 
ways do. Hope lives in the next generation.” 

Then Eleanor hid her face in her hands, for 
memory of her new-found happiness. 

Petty-Zou went on rather sadly : “ There will 

never be any next generation for me this time; 


LITTLE GODS COME HOME 157 


but after all . . . Well, the nozifs the thing, 

and God keep past and future. Each of us a little 
cell in the great living structure of the Universe 
. . . If we can keep fully alive, that seems to 

be the most expected of us, and I believe I have 
found the way to it — to be here in the heart of 
this great old city and to feel the pulse-beat of as 
many other beings as possible . . 

“ Are you never lonely ? ” asked Eleanor. 

“ Oh, often,” confessed Petty-Zou and Eleanor 
was stricken with remorse: 

“ And perhaps to-day when Larry and I have 
been so abominably selfish together — ” 

“ Hush ! ” said Petty-Zou. “ It’s nice to be 
abominably selfish together. And it comes properly 
— only once in a life-time, they say.” 

Eleanor sprang to her feet to be ready for flight : 
“ Then, Petty-Zou, dear, don’t — do take care 
that you don’t lose that once! ” 

She had to run before a shower of Christmas 
roses with which Petty-Zou began pelting her, and 
went on following and hurling until the bowl was 
empty and Eleanor knelt on her own landing to 
gather them up. 

“ All the same, I’m right,” she asserted with 
vigour. 

Then Petty-Zou pecked fiercely : “ What do you 
know about it? The advice that the young are al- 
ways giving the old ! ” She ran away and shut her 
door just as Larry opened his. 


CHAPTER XIX 


FRESH DANGERS OF THE CHARITY HABIT 

“ Whatever you do,” Eleanor had said, “ look 
before you leap, or you’ll repent as usual.” 

Well, Petty-Zou thought about the matter of the 
little gods all that night and for two days after; and 
she might have gone on thinking until the New 
Year and developed a permanent straight line be- 
tween her brows, had not Mrs. Barker come 
a-knocking at her door. 

She did not know the fat elderly person who 
puffed and panted on her landing; but beholding 
in her a stranger and a possible guest at the hour 
for brewing tea, she promptly invited her in. 

“ Mrs. Barker,” said the visitor, “ Mrs. Emily 
Barker, and recommended, if you please, miss, by 
her ladyship, the Countess of Savernake.” In evi- 
dence of her good faith, she produced a slip of 
paper containing in the Countess’s hand Petty-Zou’s 
name and address. 

“Tell me all about it,” cooed the little hostess, 
offering her first cup of tea. 

It was a long tale and wandering, and full of 
will o’ the wisp lights; but in the end Petty-Zou 
158 


DANGERS OF THE CHARITY HABIT 159 

made out something like this : that Mrs. Barker was 
a widow that had had twelve children not counting 
misfortunes whereof she had buried eleven and the 
twelfth had disappeared as late as the day before 
Christmas from the big house in Portland Place 
where she was second housemaid and taking £20 a 
year with promise of more. Likewise her Louisa 
had a decent steady-going young man which besides 
it were fair driving her poor old mother to the 
work’us bein’ as she would die before ever she 
crossed its threshold most likely she had gone and 
drownded of herself. But as for her box which it 
were found all roped-like and ready to go but full 
of stones and bricks there was no knowin’ what 
young people would come to these days leastways 
them that were so artful . . . 

Out of the inextricable tangle, Petty-Zou fished 
the one clear fact that the Countess being sorry 
for the forlorn mother, hitherto largely dependent 
upon her daughter’s wages, had sent her whither she 
would not be turned away. 

Petty-Zou scarcely knew how it happened; but 
very shortly she had engaged the woman to come 
and do her work, had promised to assist, as far as 
she might, in the finding of the daughter, had 
loaned a handkerchief and half-a-crown to pay the 
rent in Three Pie Court, the widow’s last abode, 
and had sent her home to collect her bits of things. 

Tyrrhena told Sidonia at the time that she had 
piisgivings : “ But then, my dear, the woman came 


i6o THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


knocking at the door, so what could I do but take 
her in ? ” 

From the first, the House disapproved of her 
heartily, as Petty-Zou was not slow to learn. 

She was jumped upon first by Eleanor and Larry, 
who must have watched for Mrs. Barker’s de- 
parture to do the shopping before they tramped 
upstairs and declared in chorus that this would never 
do in the world. 

“ What ? ” asked Petty-Zou, deep in clay. 

“Where did you pick up that awful creature ?” 
came Eleanor’s protest. 

“ Through the Countess,” answered Petty-Zou 
cheerfully, yet on her guard. 

“ The Countess ? ” gasped Eleanor ; and the two 
young people stared at each other. 

“ Yes,” said Petty-Zou firmly. “ I know ap- 
pearances are against her. She would look much 
nicer with just her little nobble of gray hair at the 
back; it’s her curly false front that spoils her looks. 
But she’s really quite clean and respectable. And 
now that she’s lost her daughter . . .” 

“ What have you to do with her daughter, Lord 
love ye?” quoth Larry. 

And Eleanor raised the practical question : 
“ Where does she sleep ? ” 

“ In the other bedroom, of course. Oh, we re- 
arranged and found a way.” 

“All the same,” said Larry, “the creature has 
tiger-eyes ! ” 


DANGERS OF THE CHARITY HABIT 161 


“ No/’ said Eleanor, “ but fat and bulgy and fish- 
like !” 

“ Feline ! ” swore Larry. 

“ Fishy ! ” insisted Eleanor. 

But the two of them agreed that the woman’s 
expression was blatant with a something or other 
that gave them the cold creeps. And didn’t Petty- 
Zou feel it? 

“ A little,” she confessed. “ Not much. Not 
very much. She does sing rather a lot about Judg- 
ment Day, but then . . .” 

Larry shook his head with such an air of wis- 
dom that she felt bound to ask him what he was 
thinking of. 

“ Bumpus,” said he gently. 

But his shot missed altogether. Petty-Zou took 
him up with a quick : “ Poor things ! I do hope 

they aren’t sea-sick! You surely see that this is a 
different case altogether?” 

“ Well,” said Larry patiently, “ and what do you 
propose to do with her ? ” 

“ I must love her a little if I can,” she answered. 
“ I’m sure that is what she needs. She doesn’t look 
as if anybody had loved her for a long while. It 
won’t be very easy to do ; but probably in 
time . . .” 

“ Time? ” said Larry. “ I’ll give you your head 
for just a week, dear lady, and then we shall see.” 

Going downstairs, later in the day, Petty-Zou en- 
countered Tudor, the imperturbable: “Look here, 


1 62 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


miss, I’m not the interferin’ kind, as you know; 
but I’d be glad if you could tell me somethink of 
the family history of that elderly party wot you’ve 
got upstairs. She ain’t prepossessing if I may say 
so — that’s wot she ain’t — and no offence in- 
tended ! ” 

^ And him too she silenced for the time with the 
great name of Savernake. He saluted and retired, 
but his agitation was betrayed by the visible projec- 
tion of his two tusks over his downy beard; com- 
monly he keeps his teeth better in hand. Moreover, 
for some time after, the neighbours heard consider- 
able growling from the Tudor flat, which showed 
that the big P. C. was not yet in a happy temper 
with his family. 

But alas for Larry’s good intentions ! Within the 
week he got an engagement with a provincial com- 
pany, on the strength of his Christmas Hamlet, and 
departed with such a hasty farewell from the land- 
ing that he did not notice Petty-Zou’s reluctance to 
ask him in. 

Eleanor it was who, after sitting over the fire 
lost in her own dreams until Larry might have 
been perhaps as far north as Rugby, was then 
stricken with a wave of penitence for having so 
long neglected her dear Petty-Zou, and ran up- 
stairs, about seven o’clock in the evening, to see 
how she fared. 

She knocked and then stepped back upon finding 
that the transom was dark. But just as she was 


DANGERS OF THE CHARITY HABIT 163 


turning away, she fancied a step within and waited, 
until presently she heard the door unlocked and 
caught a glimpse of Petty-Zou’s nose and one curl. 

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” was the amazingly cold 
greeting that trickled out upon the penitent Elea- 
nor. “ What do you want ? ” 

The guilty one humbled herself : “ Oh, Petty- 

Zou, I know you’ve a right to be vexed with me; 
but indeed . . 

“ I’m not vexed,” came from behind the door. 
“ I’m busy. Go home.” 

Eleanor stared, speechless, until she was met with 
a further impatient “ Well, what is it you want? ” 

“ I want ” — gasped Eleanor, then got out some- 
how — “ I’m lonely ! I think I want to come in.” 

The door opened an inch wider ; Petty-Zou’s eyes 
appeared, looking her friend up and down, as if not 
quite sure of her respectability. 

“ Has something ” — Eleanor changed her ques- 
tion : “ What has happened ? ” 

“ Nothing,” was the answer, but spiritless. “ Go 
away.” 

Instead, Eleanor advanced and taking the door 
out of her friend’s hands, admitted herself : 
“ Where are your matches? Your fire’s out. How 
long have you been sitting here in the dark . . . ? ” 

“ I wasn’t sitting ” — Petty-Zou defended herself, 
with the mental agility of a child, from the collateral 
charge. 

“ What doing ? Thank heaven ! ” — the match- 


164 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


box was found. In the first upflare of the gas, 
Eleanor continued: “You’re as white as plaster! 
iWhat are you hiding behind your back ? ” 

“ Nothing important,” said Petty-Zou, trying to 
slip away. 

But Eleanor was too quick for her, and drew 
forward the silver-mounted Venetian dagger, un- 
sheathed. For a second, she was overcome by the 
ghastly suspicion that Petty-Zou had been contem- 
plating suicide. And Lord Wharton was — O 
heavens ! where ? — ran her distracted thought. 

But Petty-Zou seemed now inclined to make the 
best of the situation. “ I always sleep with it under 
my pillow, you know,” she said, as if such a pro- 
ceeding were the most natural in the world. “ It’s 
beautiful work — ever notice it before? Sixteenth 
century, I believe.” 

But Eleanor was collecting her wits : “ Where’s 

Mrs. Barker?” 

There came a certain watchfulnes into Petty- 
Zou’s eyes : “ Did you want to see her ? ” 

“ I never want to see her,” retorted Eleanor. 
“ She’s a poisonous old thing ! But what have you 
done with her?” As far as she could see the flat 
was empty of the creature’s presence. 

“ Go home,” said Petty-Zou. “ You’re tire- 
some ! ” 

“ I shall make up your fire first,” said Eleanor, 
kneeling on the fender and looking about for the 
bellows. “ Where is the woman ? ” 


DANGERS OF THE CHARITY HABIT 165 


The answer came in a long-drawn sigh or quiver 
of sound that seemed to rise from the floor under 
their feet. Eleanor began to drop coals all over 
the fender. 

“ There ! ” said Petty-Zou crossly. “ I knew that 
would happen if you stayed long.” 

“ What is it ? ” Eleanor was barely able to ask. 

“ It’s herself,” said Petty-Zou, defiantly, now that 
the cat was out of the bag. 

“ Where is she ? ” 

“ In the scullery.” 

“ What doing? ” 

“ She was asleep — until you came. I locked her 
in, hours ago.” 

“You locked her in, hours ago?” repeated the 
dazed Eleanor, struggling for a foothold in this 
topsy-turvy situation. 

“ Yes, I did,” said Petty-Zou. “ It was the first 
time, but necessary, believe me.” 

Another heavy snore reverberated through the 
room ; Eleanor dropped the tongs with a clatter, and 
instantly there came a beating as of hands and feet 
against the scullery door. 

“ She’s awake again,” said Petty-Zou resignedly. 
“ I hoped she would sleep it off.” 

“ Drunk?” 

“ Oh, no, not quite, though I’m afraid she had 
been . . . not drunk! She wouldn’t . . . 

Eleanor, it’s so inconvenient to have you here just 
now ! ” 


1 66 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ I shall see it through,” said Eleanor, folding 
her arms upon the bellows. “ If she isn’t drunk, 
what’s the matter ? ” 

Petty-Zou dropped into the nearest chair. “ I 
have almost concluded,” she said wearily, “ that the 
poor thing is a little mad.” 

“Tudor!” was Eleanor’s solution; but Petty- 
Zou barred her way to the door. “ No, you don’t,” 
said she. “ This is my house and the woman is in 
my charge. You will please leave me to manage 
my own affairs.” 

“ Mad ? ” gasped Eleanor. “ And you here 
alone ? O Petty-Zou, let me go ! ” 

“ She isn’t very mad,” explained Petty-Zou, still 
firm as a rock. “ I should have controlled her per- 
fectly by now — if you hadn’t meddled.” 

“ Alone in the dark,” murmured Eleanor, with 
shaking voice. 

“ It wasn’t very dark,” said Petty-Zou, “ and I 
wanted her to sleep. I thought perhaps if she 
couldn’t hear a sound or see even a crack of light 
under the scullery door, she would think I had gone 
away and quiet down.” 

“ How long? ” 

“ Since just after Larry stopped to say good- 
bye. That seemed to make her funny. She had 
been to the Setting Sun , I think ... It has 
been such a wet day. But she was all right till 
then; and all of a sudden she came up to me with 
this plaything and said she’d ‘ soldier ’ me if I didn’t 


DANGERS OF THE CHARITY HABIT 167 


say where Ed put her daughter. I was darning 
stockings — one must darn stockings, mustn't one ? 

— and I suppose I was rather off my guard . . 

“ Off your guard ? Then it has happened be- 
fore ? ” asked Eleanor. 

“ O my dear, nothing like this ! Never the half 
part of this ! I was really frightened for a second 

— just a little — when I looked up. I don’t know 

what brought the words to my lips — I couldn’t 
think of anything else. I said : ‘ Have you looked 

in the scullery ? ’ So off she trotted, dropping this 
on the floor, and I after and turned the key. Lucky 
thing one can lock up one’s scullery sometimes. Oh, 
it wasn’t very comfortable, I know. But there’s 
some cold food there. And I hadn’t my wits about 
me to think of anything better at the time. There, 
I’m confessed.” 

“ No,” said Eleanor, “ there’s a little more. And 
you sat there holding that dagger, expecting her to 
break down the door every minute.” 

“ They are sometimes strong, I have heard,” she 
admitted. “ But I knew something would turn up. 
If she had come out, I might have called for 
help.” 

“ You weren’t particularly pleased to see it when 
it came,” Eleanor could not forbear observing. 
“Now, what are we to do?” 

“ You are to go home, as I’ve told you all along. 
I shall let her out soon, I think. I’m sure it’s per- 
fectly safe now.” 


1 68 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ And then? ” 

“ Then we shall probably have some supper, if 
she is able to get it.” 

“And suppose she is as bad as ever?” 

“ Oh, she won’t have another tantrum for a long 
time. And she’s nearly over this one ” — the kick- 
ing and beating indeed sounded feebler. “ I’m 
used to them now.” 

“ She hasn’t tried to kill you before? ” 

“Not really , poor thing! I always manage to 
stop her before she begins.” 

“ Apparently,” observed Eleanor, “ as you’re still 
alive.” 

“ She knows I’m not afraid of her; and that’s 
two-thirds of the battle.” 

Eleanor remembered Petty-Zou’s face in the first 
flash of the gas; and Petty-Zou seemed to read her 
thought. “ Yes, I was tired watching and wait- 
ing,” she confessed. 

“ Well,” said Eleanor, “ I’m going now.” 

Petty-Zou read treachery in her face : “ Then 

Tudor, or one of his kind will happen in, I sup- 
pose. If you bring him here, or any of the neigh- 
bours, I’ll never speak to you again as long as I 
live ! You know whether I mean it ! ” 

Eleanor did know. She stopped and said with 
the calmness of despair: “What do you propose 
doing? ” 

“ I have already told you,” was the curt answer. 

Eleanor reflected, then she offered compromise: 


DANGERS OF THE CHARITY HABIT 169 


“ Look here, I’ll stay while you let her out. If she 
seems all right, and you are willing to lock her in 
her room for the night — she’ll be perfectly com- 
fortable — and if you’ll let me stop with you, I’ll 
say no more until morning; and then we can con- 
sider what must be done.” She anticipated refusal: 
“ Otherwise I shall act as I think best, and take my 
chances as to your anger.” 

Then Petty-Zou gave way a little : “ You are so 

foolish, Eleanor. Just get behind the big chair, 
and you’ll see how peaceable she is. And if you 
are frightened — run ! ” 

Eleanor had no time to protest before Petty-Zou 
was unlocking the scullery. She clutched hard the 
bellows, which she had not remembered to put down ; 
and the two women waited, scarcely breathing, as 
the door swung slowly inward without impediment. 

Petty-Zou called once, twice, then a head ap- 
peared — a nearly bald grey head with a dark front 
dangling over one ear. 

“ Go to your room,” said Petty-Zou quietly, “ and 
I will bring you your supper.” 

“ You will, will you ? ” muttered the creature, 
with a ponderous forward step. 

Then Eleanor, with a slight scream, rushed to 
help, and quite unaware of what she was doing, 
blew her bellows furiously. 

The woman put up a dazed hand, bending a little 
away from the sudden wind; and the small com- 
mander, dagger in hand, her eyes fiercely blue, 


170 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


followed up the advantage : “ Go and comb your 

hair.” 

And to Eleanor's astonishment, Mrs. Barker 
whimpered and obeyed. In a moment, the door 
was locked upon her. 

“ You see,” said Petty-Zou, “ how easy it was. 
Now do you think me capable of managing my own 
affairs? ” 

“ I wish,” said Eleanor, “ that Lord Wharton 
were not at Mentone.” 

“ How do you know where he is? ” began Petty- 
Zou, and bit her lip. 

“ Saw it in the Morning Post. It said he was 
prolonging his stay a little.” 

“ No doubt he will be the better for it,” said Pet- 
ty-Zou. “ And now I shall take Mrs. Barker her 
supper.” 

“ And I shall make ready to come up for the 
night.” 

“ My dear girl, we shall be so crowded ! There’s 
only the one bed, you know. I said you might 
come if you liked; but if you do — oh, dear, 
deary ! ” 

“ No,” says Eleanor, “ we can eke it out with 
cushions and things.” 

Their last contention was as to which should 
sleep in the place of greater safety next the wall. 
“ As if there were any danger ! ” commented Petty- 
Zou scornfully. “ Often and often I haven’t trou- 
bled even to lock the door — only hung an empty 


DANGERS OF THE CHARITY HABIT 171 


milk-can on the knob, so I should hear her come 
out.” 

“ We’ll do that to-night,” said Eleanor, with 
decision; “ and we’ll barricade, moreover.” 

“ Her supper ? ” asked Petty-Zou ; but a hasty 
look through the scullery satisfied both that Mrs. 
Barker could not be hungry. 

They built a barricade with energy — a long line 
of chairs and tables ; and they set the milk-can a-top, 
so precariously that a turn of the knob would have 
sent it clanking. 

I will not deny that the two women talked a good 
deal at first, perhaps to cover some nervousness that 
they would not confess. But presently Eleanor had 
no answer to a question; and lifting herself by one 
elbow from her place by the wall, she saw in the 
firelight Petty-Zou fast asleep, looking about six- 
teen, with her plaited yellow hair over one cheek, 
smiling a little over some pleasant dream. She her- 
self had a bad night of it, with a horrible oppres- 
sion as of some one thumping on her chest, and of 
a red face with a wig over one ear, and fishy-feline 
eyes, that came nearer . . . nearer . . . 

She started up with a cry in the dawn; Petty- 
Zou stirred cozily: “ What’s the matter?” 

Then they both looked out to see that the barri- 
cade was unbroken, with the milk-can airily a-top. 

“ The charwoman is safe,” said Eleanor, “ and 
so are we.” 

“Did you ever doubt it?” asked Petty-Zou. 


CHAPTER XX 


BREAKING THE NEWS 

However much Parliament and Society in general 
may have regretted the duly chronicled departure 
of Lord Wharton, they were not doomed to miss 
him long. He returned as abruptly as he had gone, 
but unannounced and unchronicled until the second 
or third day after. 

He went at once to his rooms in St. James, and 
after a casual perusal of such of his mail as had not 
been forwarded, fell into such a state of idle cap- 
tiousness and aimless criticism that his valet was 
seriously alarmed, and was more than once on the 
point of telephoning, on his own responsibility, for 
my lord’s physician. 

Short of that, he did everything in the way of 
tactful management, laid papers about open at an- 
nouncements for the day, made delicate suggestions 
about the park and the weather, ventured a little 
political news which was received in chill silence, 
and at last upon remarking that the Earl and Coun- 
tess of Savernake had returned from the country, 
drew upon himself such a quietly ironical rebuke 
that his dignity suffered for a week. 

1 72 


BREAKING THE NEWS 


173 

As he told the porter, his only comfort was, that 
at the appointed hour for luncheon, his lordship 
had called a cab and driven away as usual to his 
club; otherwise he would have considered that his 
lordship was seriously deranged in an affair of the 
heart or of business. 

The porter who was young but a philosopher, ob- 
served that this action meant very little, for at his 
lordship’s age, a failure to turn up at luncheon 
would have been equivalent to announcing that he 
meant to pass in his cheques. So the valet was 
left to his perplexities, which included some anxious 
consideration how he should begin to cast about 
his lines for another sinecure like the present. 

But after luncheon the symptoms were not so 
alarming. All that seemed clear was that on that 
particular day, his lordship meant to do nothing, 
and to do it thoroughly. Towards tea-time, the 
valet judged that he was beginning to be ashamed 
of his idleness; he sent for an evening paper and 
unfolded it. But the man had scarcely breathed 
a sigh of relief, through a crack in the door, when 
he had to retreat suddenly, for his lordship dropped 
the sheets, made a dash for his hat and gloves, and 
departed in a whirlwind most uncommonly upset- 
ting. 

The valet and the porter made what they could 
of the situation, which was little enough, although it 
included whisky and soda. 

Meanwhile, Lord Wharton was driven to Port- 


174 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


land Place, where he roused his sister from her 
afternoon nap over a French novel, in the library. 

“ Yes, I am quite alone,” she said crossly, “ and 
I hoped to remain so. No, don’t go. Sit down. 
I’ve had my tea. Would you like a cup? No? 
Why did you go to Mentone? And once there, 
why didn’t you stay? I don’t approve of this flit- 
ting about.” 

“Well, have you done?” he demanded, as her 
ponderous voice, almost baritone in pitch, fell away 
into silence. 

Thus facing each other across the fire, they 
showed a strong family resemblance, with the ad- 
vantage, however, all on his side. The hawk fea- 
tures that gave him distinction made her somewhat 
masculine and forbidding. 

She did not answer his question, but studied 
him in silence through her pince-nez, before ejacu- 
lating: “Well, Philip, well?” She was some 
years the older, and her manner showed plainly 
that she was conscious of the fact. 

“ Well ” — he smiled at her, then said with de- 
liberation — I thought I’d do you the honour of 
breaking the news before I took any further step.” 

“ What now ? ” she asked uneasily. 

Perhaps he was wondering how to move next, for 
he was slow to respond — so slow that she repeated 
her question: “ What took you to Mentone? You 
never go there ! ” 

“ Gout,” said he. “ No, that won’t do — doesn’t 


BREAKING THE NEWS 


i75 


run in the family, does it? Rheumatism then? 
No? Don’t we own a good old family illness? 
Impossible ! ” 

“ I never heard that Mentone was good for either 
of these afflictions,” she answered drily. “ It was 
temper that ailed you, probably. Please — please, 
don’t break my Cupid . You’re handling him very 
roughly.” 

“ I’m thinking,” said he. “ Alicia, did it ever 
occur to you that we ought to hide our heads and 
blush for our forebears ? ” 

“Nonsense!” — she was impatient. “Some sil- 
ly joke, I suppose. Don’t make mysteries. What 
do you mean? ” 

His eyes twinkled upon her : “ Our first an- 

cestor, Alicia, the great Charles Philip himself, who 
bagged the old Wharton estates — he was a mighty 
thief.” 

“ Philip! ” said she. “ How can you? Some of 
the servants might be about. He was a patriot 
and he served his king well.” 

“No doubt, but he was a bad lot all the same. 
I’ve looked him up in some family records that you 
have never seen; a sly, smooth old scamp, and a 
most infernal liar.” 

“ Philip ! ” she gasped. 

He showed a certain doggedness in pursuing the 
theme : “ And the second earl, George Philip, what 

was he but a foul-mouthed, drunken, roystering 
fool? And the third . . 


i ;6 [THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ Your grand father,” she interrupted. 

“ Yes, I agree with you, it’s more polite to omit 
him. Still, that epitaph in Wharton Church is a 
trifle — ” 

“ Pretty talk,” she exclaimed. “ Are you mad ? 
You’ll be slandering your own father next.” 

“ Heaven forbid,” said he gravely. “ I am too 
much like him. Can you remember, Alicia, a single 
noteworthy or wholly admirable thing that he ever 
did in his life-time? Tell the truth now.” 

“ His life was given up to charity,” said she 
indignantly, “ and that’s admirable, I hope. If you 
have come here only to abuse your family . . .” 

“ Oh, I haven’t said anything against the women,” 
he retorted, with a faint smile. 

“ Well, then, unless you wish to extend your 
remarks to them as well, I should think we might 
change the subject. I haven’t got out of you yet 
why you went to Mentone.” 

“ I was sorry I hadn’t made it Taormina; but I 
lacked the energy to move on.” 

“ But why either place ? ” 

“ Why does one move about? One gets bored.” 
He shrugged. 

“Were you bored?” 

“ Need you ask? ’ 

She pondered this a while before she observed: 
“ That is something new. It doesn’t fit your char- 
acter.” 

“ I’m growing old,” he answered. 


BREAKING THE NEWS 


1 77 


“ So are we all. Doesn’t account for it. One 
gets less bored as the time grows short.” 

“ And being a forlorn bachelor . . .” 

“ Well, it isn’t my faul that you didn’t marry 
years ago. I did what I could.” 

He laughed : “ So you did ; but it’s never too 

late to mend.” 

“Now?” said she. “Oh, now, it would be ri- 
diculous! Besides, think of Edward and the title. 
They expect it down to the third generation. You 
must not upset all their plans.” 

“ What’s a title ? ” he retorted. “ I’d hand it 
over to them to-morrow, if I could.” 

“ I think you sometimes forget to uphold the dig- 
nity of the family,” she observed, and suddenly re- 
membered that he had spoken of breaking some 
news. 

“ I think,” says he, “ the moment is hardly fa- 
vourable. We’ll postpone it, if you please.” 

She studied him and perhaps had a shrewd sus- 
picion of the matter in hand. Her next sentence 
startled him : “ Philip, you know I’m very fond 

of Petty-Zou.” 

“ Who isn’t ? ” he fenced. 

“ But how old do you think she is? ” 

“ Something above twenty,” said he lightly. 
“ I’ve brought you a little bronze . . 

“ Don’t evade me.” 

“ Under twenty, then. Don’t you want to hear 
about that bronze ? ” 


178 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ Later — later ” — she waved him aside. “ She’s 
not so many years younger than I am.” 

“ And how old may that be ? ” — he pretended 
ignorance. 

“ You’ll be forgetting my name next,” said she. 

“ I can never remember that you’re getting on.” 
He assumed a tactful admiration, which did not 
deceive her for a moment. 

“ Is that a sufficient hint ? ” she concluded. 

“ Hint ? ” — he affected dullness. “ I don’t see 
any hint in your telling me Petty-Zou’s age, which 
I knew before — and by the way, you haven’t told 
me. But, however, we seem to be in for it, and as 
you have bent your neck to the halter, you shall 
have it : I came to tell you that I’m going to marry 
this same Petty-Zou.” 

She found no adequate speech. 

“ And a pretty fool I am not to have done it 
long ago ! ” 

She stumbled for words but found none even 
then. 

“ Yes, I freely confess that I’ve been a fool — 
and a snob. I minded your opinion and the 
world’s; and I’ve let the years slip by until it’s late, 
but — not too late. You must make the best of it 
— you and the family. It won’t endanger Ed- 
ward’s succession, if that worries you,” he con- 
cluded rather bitterly. 

“ I feared it — I always feared it,” she mur- 
mured. 


BREAKING THE NEWS 


179 


“ Yet you call yourself her friend,” said he 
keenly. 

“ Ah — friendship . . ” 

She did not conclude her sentence, for the butler 
stood in the doorway, saying that a young woman 
— who had not given her name — requested to see 
her. She was about to refuse when he added: 
“ She said it was business of particular moment to 
Miss Coverdale, and she believed you would not 
regret her intrusion.” 

Brother and sister looked at each other. 

“ Ver^ good,” said the Countess. “ Ask her to 
wait.” And when they were alone, she added iron- 
ically : “ You’d better go see what it is. It seems 

to be your business now.” 

He took her seriously and rose : “ I don’t 

mind . . ” 

She stopped him with a gesture of entreaty: 
“ Philip?” 

“ Well, Alicia? ” His tone was firm and cool. 

“ You surely can’t mean to do such an idiotic 
thing? ” 

“ I have decided that it is not idiotic to marry 
a woman, if one cares for her,” he answered 
quietly. 

“ But there is so much else to consider — so 
much,” she pleaded. 

“ Is there? Well, I believe I have considered it 
all,” said he, moving towards the door. “ I’ve 
taken time enough about it.” 


i8o THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


She stopped him again: “ Tell me one thing. 
Have you asked her ? ” 

“ I certainly have — and more than once, but 
as yet she has turned me down.” He laughed sud- 
denly at her alarmed face : “ Lord love you, my 

dear, don’t worry yet a while! It takes two to 
make a bargain. But I thought it only fair to 
warn you that I shall do my best.” 

She looked faintly relieved, but said only, as she 
rustled from her chair to the window : “ Well, I’m 

not in any mood to hear more about her now; so 
you’d better go deal with the creature, whoever she 
is — some beggar or subscription person, I sup- 
pose.” 

He did not see, as he left the room, that she 
was crying bitterly behind her hand-screen. 


CHAPTER XXI 


HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE 

He was frankly surprised when “ the creature ” 
proved to be Eleanor Lane; and she was so over- 
joyed that she fairly ran to meet him, and had 
panted out her story before he had time to ask for 
an explanation. 

“By Jove!” said he. “This must be looked 
into. I’ll come at once. We can talk in the cab. 
You don’t mind being hurried away ? ” 

She was transported at this easy solution, and 
remained in the hall with shining eyes, as he got 
into his coat, asked the butler to call a cab, and left 
her alone a moment while he remarked to a stiff 
back at the library window that the business was ur- 
gent, and should be explained at leisure. Words of 
indignant protest did not even reach him as he hur- 
ried away. 

When they two were passing along Regent 
Street, he said: “Now tell me — what did you 
expect to gain by going to my sister? ” 

“ It was a choice between her and Tudor,” said 
she. “Of course, I might have spoken to the re- 
181 


182 the BEGGAR IN THE HEART 

lieving-officer myself; but somehow I wanted more 
authority.” 

“ You shall have it,” said he grimly. 

“ And then, you see, the Countess sent the 
woman to Petty-Zou.” 

“ How so ? ” he asked ; and as she explained, 
added: “Well, well, that does make a complica- 
tion ... or a simplification — we shall see 
which.” 

Thereupon he demanded full details of the inci- 
dent, which occupied the traversing of Whitehall. 
He asked a few questions but otherwise made no 
comment, and kept his face averted so that Eleanor 
could not read its expression. 

“ I’m so thankful you’re here ! ” she ended with a 
gulp. “ And so frightened for fear she’s had an- 
other attack and . . .” 

“ You should have come earlier,” was his only 
reproach. 

“ I’ve been arguing with her most of the day,” 
said Eleanor. 

Erasmus House twinkled its many windows be- 
fore them through a slight veil of fog. 

At the corner, Eleanor saw a policeman of Tu- 
dor’s build, and was half minded to call Lord Whar- 
ton’s attention to him; but something in her com- 
panion’s attitude, or her own instinct, told her plain- 
ly that he wished to fight this battle alone. 

He told the cabby to wait; and after that, they 
made short work of the stairway. Old Seascale at 


HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE 183 


his door was disposed to comment on the state of 
the country; but had scarcely returned his lord- 
ship’s nod before he found himself addressing a 
retreating back. Half-way up, Mrs. Wale at her 
open door, was shaking Danny. Perceiving nobil- 
ity, she stopped and hastily wiped her offspring’s 
nose on her apron, as she curtsied her respects; but 
his lordship for the first time that she could re- 
member, never glanced in her direction. 

Near the top, Eleanor hesitated and fell back 
upon her companion : “ Do you hear a snarling 

noise ... ? ” 

But already he was past her, and without so much 
as a knock, was trying his strength upon the locked 
door. 

When Eleanor reached the landing, the growling 
had ceased. Then Lord Wharton rapped sharply 
several times and listened. After a second of tense 
silence, both he and Eleanor heard the sound of a 
step within, and the click of the key in the lock. 

He it was who opened the door, for there was 
the sound of a sudden rush, and he entered to find 
Petty-Zou cowering against the wall, her little figure 
overshadowed by an ugly black bulk. But before 
Eleanor realized what had happened, it was the 
lunatic who was against the wall, pinioned there 
by this man of action; while Petty-Zou, shaken 
and trembling, stood alone in the middle of the 
room. 

Lord Wharton turned his head in the direction 


184 [THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


of Eleanor: “ If you don’t mind — get into that 
cab — and fetch the relieving-officer, or the parish 
doctor — somebody . . .” 

She obeyed without a word. 

As she closed the door, he turned to Petty-Zou. 
“ Have you got a rope or a strong cord ? ” he asked, 
resisting the woman’s efforts to free herself and to 
cry out. 

Petty-Zou looked at him as if fascinated; but 
did not move or answer. 

“ I say ! ” he called again. “ Get me a rope, will 
you ? ” 

“ No,” said Petty-Zou then, with deliberate de- 
fiance. “ No, I won’t. Let her go this minute.” 
She even stamped her foot at him, and put her hands 
behind her back, with the gesture of a child that 
means not to do as it is told. 

But at the look in his eyes, she shrank. “ Get 
it,” was all he said. 

Reluctantly she went over to the cupboard; and 
after a long search even more slowly returned with 
a ball of heavy twine. 

“ Now,” says he, “ bind your handkerchief about 
her wrists — quick ! The twine will hurt.” 

She looked at him and defied him, but again she 
had to give way. After the wrapping of the hand- 
kerchief, she went over to the window, refusing to 
assist in the further process. 

Naturally he found it difficult to secure his pris- 
oner, having to hold her wrists with one hand and 


HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE 185 


wrap the cord about them with the other. He 
watched his chance, he thought; and with a sudden 
gesture tightened the knot beyond her power to 
undo it. But quick as he was, she matched him, 
for as he tied, she jerked forward her head, now 
free from restraint, and bit him viciously in the 
hand. 

He choked a brief exclamation, thrust his elbow 
against the captive's throat and finished his knot, 
with the blood dripping between his fingers. Has- 
tily wrapping a handkerchief about the wound in 
his right hand, he stepped back a few paces and 
surveyed his prisoner. All the while, Petty-Zou 
had never looked round. 

He met the woman’s glare with perfect tran- 
quility: “ If you are quiet, I won’t hurt you; but if 
you take to screaming or performing any more 
tricks like this ” — he showed his bandaged hand, 
but Petty-Zou did not see it — “ you will come out 
much worse in the end. Now go to your room! ” 

As she did not move, he turned to Petty-Zou: 
“ Where does she sleep ? ” 

“ In there,” said she. 

He thrust his injured hand into his pocket. 
“ Take her there,” he said; and added with a laugh: 
“ She can’t hurt you now.” 

Fiercely Petty-Zou turned, and with never a 
glance at him, went up to Mrs. Barker. “ Poor 
dear ! ” she said. “ Is it very painful ? It’s a shame 
to treat a helpless creature this way ! ” 


1 86 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


The woman burst into tears and consented to 
be led away, sniffing. 

For some time, Lord Wharton was left alone. 
He paced up and down the room, examined his 
hurt and frowned over it, bandaged it as well as he 
could, and watched at the window for the return- 
ing cab. 

When the sound of sobs in the bedroom was fol- 
lowed by silence, he called out sharply : “ Are you 
all right ? ” And as Petty-Zou said nothing, he 
spoke again, still more sharply, “ Answer me ! ” 
Thereupon he had a faint “ Yes,” for his pains. 

A little while after that, Petty-Zou came out to 
him, looking pale and tired, almost ill. “ She is 
quiet now,” she said, in an expressionless voice. 
“ I got her to lie down. She will be better soon.” 

They were standing together in the little bow- 
window overlooking the chimney-pots and lights of 
the city. 

“ Well? ” he asked drily. “ What have you to 
say for yourself? ” 

“ I suppose you want to be thanked,” she said, 
too rriuch troubled to notice that he kept his 
right hand in his pocket, or that he was paler than 
usual — indeed she did not look at him at all. 
“ But I don’t feel the least bit grateful, for if you 
hadn’t meddled again . . 

“ Meddled?” says he. 

“We should have done very well. It was hav- 
ing to take my eyes away from her that gave her 


HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE 187 


a chance. But I’m sorry to have caused you so 
much trouble.” 

“ Trouble be — ! ” the air fairly quivered with 
the violence of the suppressed oath. No doubt his 
hand was becoming excessively painful. 

“ In any case,” said she, still observing the chim- 
ney-pots, “ I needn’t bother you any more.” 

He was silent so long that she at length looked 
round. " Thank you," said he. “ It is difficult 
to talk to half an ear. I wanted to ask you whether 
you think such little affairs as these do any good 
to anybody ? ” 

In her blue eyes he read a certain forbearance 
that reminded him of his sister’s share in the 
responsibility, as Eleanor had revealed it. 

He continued hastily, not without confusion: 
“ Because for twopence — can you think what I’d 
do for twopence? I’d send you off to the asylum 
instead of your patient.” 

She started visibly and clasped her hands : “ To 
the — where ? ” 

“Well, it will probably be the workhouse for a 
day or two — I believe that’s the custom.” 

He wondered what was brewing in her mind; 
but it came out quickly : “ This will never do in the 
world ! ” 

“ What ? ” he asked stupidly. 

“ I do beg you to believe ” — her anger turned 
quickly to entreaty — “that she will not give me 
any more trouble for months to come ! ” 


1 88 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ No, I am sure of that,” said he, “ nor for years 
to come.” 

Then she saw what he would be at : “ But if I 
undertake — ? ” 

“ You undertake nothing,” said he. “ It is the 
law’s turn now.” 

Panic seized her and a swift memory: “ Was 
Eleanor with you ? Where is she ? ” 

He drew out his watch : “ She has been gone 
rather a long time.” 

At this point the pain grew so acute that it pressed 
upon him the necessity of having his hand treated 
immediately. 

“ If we lock the door,” said he, “ you will be quite 
safe. I will ask one of the women downstairs to 
stop with you till Miss Lane returns.” 

“ What happens ? ” she asked. 

He fetched a wry smile : “ I am called away by 
particular, urgent business of my own; but I will 
come back . . .” 

“ It is not necessary,” said she. “ I shall be 
quite all right.” 

It is strange that he did not realize the extent 
of her possible folly; but certainly he was blinded 
by the physical torture of a poisoned and swelling 
hand. He said: “You shall not be alone two 
minutes. I will send some one — some woman; 
and Tudor — of course, Tudor is the man. You 
need have no further responsibility.” 


HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE 189 


He locked the inner door and was on the point 
of departure. 

“ The key,” she called after him. “ The key ! ” 
Something in her voice roused his suspicion. 
He considered for a moment. “ No,” he said. “ I 
believe you are not fit to be trusted with the key.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE HARE AND THE HUNTERS 

The really distressing feature of the case was 
that Lord Wharton, in the sharpness of his pain, 
neglected to use proper discrimination in the choice 
of the neighbour. 

Having encountered Rose-Mary on the stairway, 
and elicited from her the facts that her father was 
on duty, and her mother assisting the course of 
nature in Milton House, he was minded to return 
and await the help that Eleanor should bring, when 
Mrs. Wale obtruded herself respectfully on his 
notice and offered her services with a willing heart. 

He gave her a nod and briefly explained the situ- 
ation: “There’s a sovereign for you if you show 
sense for a quarter of an hour.” And when she 
had undertaken to do this simple thing, he found 
a cab and was off to the doctor. 

It is a pity that he mistook his woman, not realiz- 
ing how the character of Mrs. Wale had been un- 
dermined by the loss of her husband in some petty 
Indian outbreak and the small return she had for 
that in the shape of a pension. The plain fact is, 
that the moment Petty-Zou set eyes upon Mrs. 

190 


THE HARE AND THE HUNTERS 191 • 

Wale, she began a process of bribery and corrup- 
tion. 

“ It’s all right,” she said. “ Mrs. Barker has 
not been well, and they are trying to take her to 
the workhouse. What I want you to do is to carry 
her off somewhere — don’t even tell me where — 
and keep her happy until they have come and gone. 
I’ll see to the rest.” 

Mrs. Wale shook her head — she had heard a 
different story ; and attempted remonstrance. 

“ Wait a minute,” says Petty-Zou. “ Give me 
your keys.” 

“ No, you don’t, miss ” — Mrs. Wale was in- 
finitely firm. 

“ Oh, yes, I do. There’s no time to lose. I 
want to see if any one of them will fit. Sometimes 
they make duplicates in these buildings, I am told. 
Give them to me — for ten shillings.” 

Mrs. Wale still shook her head; the offer was not 
enough. 

Petty-Zou argued her best; the moments were 
speeding. She listened all the while for cab-wheels 
below. 

“ He put you in my charge — his lordship,” said 
Mrs. Wale solemnly. 

Then Petty-Zou’s temper flew out in a shower of 
sparks, and she was desperate in her determination. 
She pictured a hot supper, sausages, steak-and-kid- 
ney pie, in a cosy little room behind the bar, with 
— yes, what you like — so dearly had consent to 


192 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


be purchased! And after that a golden sov- 
ereign . . . 

Mrs. .Wale dangled the keys of her flat reflec- 
tively, wondering if she saw her way to a double 
payment. Petty-Zou darted upon her and seized 
them; and after two or three trials, found one 
that would fit, and unlocked the bedroom door. 
The mischief was done then, and Mrs. Wale could 
only follow to have a look at the bound victim, who 
was asleep as peacefully — as trustfully, added 
Petty-Zou — as if no asylums or workhouses ex- 
isted in the world. 

And after all, Mrs. Wale argued with herself, 
it wasn’t her fault that one of the keys fitted. It 
was a piece of luck that — or the finger of Heaven 
— not a chance in twenty . . . 

It was the work of a moment to run for -scissors 
to clip the bonds ; and the process stirred Mrs. Bar- 
ker from her sleep. She looked at them heavily 
but sensibly and demanded to know what it was all 
about. 

“ You see ! ” cried Petty-Zou to the other. “ Oh, 
be quick ! ” Such an admonition was worse than 
useless to two ponderous women no longer young; 
but the delay gave Mrs. Wale time to set her 
thoughts in order and reach some conclusion. Said 
she : “ I could mention several places where I’m 
knowed, aside from the Settin ' Sun , since you’re 
wishful not to be informed. And there don’t seem 
to be much risk to nobody. I’d do anythink to 


THE HARE AND THE HUNTERS 193 


oblige you , miss.” To herself she added: “ It 
don’t do to neglect your chances — two o’ the best 
offered you in one day for nothink at all.” 

It fell out therefore that by the time Eleanor was 
mounting the stairway, with a bowler-hatted little 
relieving-officer, whom she had had great difficulty 
in finding at that time of night, Mrs. Wale and Mrs. 
Barker were cosy at their place, not the Set tin’ Sun , 
with smoking tumblers of something hot to stimu- 
late them while supper was preparing. Of the re- 
cent disastrous occurrences Mrs. Barker had no 
whiff of memory, but she was properly ill-used 
and indignant when Mrs. Wale told her the little 
that she herself had gleaned; and the two women 
embarked upon the history of their pasts, neither 
listening much to the other, and both enjoying them- 
selves immensely. 

Petty-Zou had but a chilly greeting for the 
breathless and perturbed Eleanor. She did not in- 
vite her in, or even so much as glance at the little 
man behind her. 

“ You are too late,” she said, over their heads. 
“ The woman is gone. I had her taken away. 
There is nothing to do.” 

“ Oh, but ” — gasped Eleanor. “ I was as quick 
as possible. And Lord Wharton . . .” 

“We finished it all up long ago,” said Petty-Zou 
briskly. “ Go home. I’m afraid you’ve only 
wasted time and trouble.” 

“If you don’t object, madam,” suggested the 


194 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


official, “ I should like to ask a few questions.” 

“ Certainly not,” said Petty-Zou, with hauteur. 
“ Come in and search, if you don’t believe me when 
I say she’s gone. But I don’t see anything to be 
gained by questions.” 

The man turned to Eleanor with the muttered in- 
quiry: “ You are sure this isn’t the one?” 

But Petty-Zou’s ears were keen: “ Well, if you 
must take somebody > I don’t mind. I’m. as mad as 
she was ” — honesty compelled her to add — “when 
she went away.” 

“To come to the point,” said he, “ the case is 
in my district, and I must have a few particulars. 
Where is the lunatic ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” she answered, and added, “ Not 
that I’d tell you if I did !” 

He kept his temper, being used to all sorts of 
encounters, and continued quietly : “ How long 
since she was taken away ? ” 

“ Haven’t an idea. I didn’t look at the time.” 

“ Who took her?” 

“ A friend of mine.” 

“ Name, please.” 

She was silent. 

“ I must trouble you for the name.” 

Here Eleanor interposed : “ What’s the good of 
making a fuss about that? It was Lord Wharton, 
of course.” 

The officer turned to Petty-Zou for confirmation. 
She smiled maliciously and said : “ I hate to have 


THE HARE AND THE HUNTERS 195 


my friends’ names mixed up in affairs like this.” 

He wrote. ‘Lord Wharton ’ without further de- 
lay, and demanded his address. 

In answer to his further inquiry as to the dis- 
posal of the lunatic, Petty-Zou declared that she 
could furnish no details, but added that she was 
greatly relieved at the turn of events and had no 
fear whatever for the future. 

At this the little man gave her a sharp look, 
entered something in his note-book and departed. 
If she had guessed that his scribble was to the 
effect, ‘ Call first thing in the morning, and sift to 
the bottom,’ she would not have thrust the opening 
steps of a minuet upon the unwilling Eleanor, the 
moment he closed the door. 

Her triumph was rudely interrupted by the arriv- 
al of a messenger-boy. The telegram summoned 
Eleanor to the bedside of a well-to-do aunt in the 
country, by whom she had been cast aside when she 
took up literature. “ Here’s my chance ! ” cried the 
girl excitedly. “ Now I shall make it up with her 
and earn her blessing! Petty-Zou, see if there’s a 
train to-night — that’s a love ! ” 

In the rush for an ABC, the discovery of one 
more train that was still possible that day, and the 
hurried packing of a few needments, Mrs. Barker 
passed out of the minds of both women. They 
were presently off in a cab together; and not till 
Petty-Zou watched the slow curling away of 
Eleanor’s train, did she find time to wonder what 


196 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


might have happened in her absence. But she had 
reasoned out the probabilities before she reached 
the end of the station platform. 

The two cronies could be counted upon to stop 
wherever they were until pretty well the closing 
hour — half-past twelve. Lord Wharton might 
have returned — he was punctilious in small mat- 
ters of this sort — and if so, he would have found 
her flat and Eleanor’s and Mrs. Wale’s all dark 
and empty. No, Danny might be at home, but he 
knew nothing ; and moreover he was usually among 
the McCallahans, where his presence was lost in 
the crowd until their mother turned him out, or his 
mother came with her finger and thumb crooked 
for his ear . . . poor little Danny ! The only 

information that Lord Wharton could possibly have 
gathered from any member of the House would be, 
that the relieving-officer, whose face was familiar 
among them for many reasons, had been fetched. 
She believed that none could betray the departure 
of Mrs. Barker and Mrs. Wale, because she herself 
had seen them safely off, and all the doors were 
shut at that time. As for the parish officer, they 
would certainly have seen him arrive in the cab; 
and she rather enjoyed the thought of the meddler’s 
mystification, upon the extraordinarily confused 
account that he would have of the case. 

. I may say that she was exactly right, except that 
she failed to foresee the possibility of Lord Whar- 
ton’s exchanging a word or so with Tudor. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


CROSS PURPOSES 

The morning after these out-of-the-way occur- 
rences, Petty-Zou received a summons from Port- 
land Place to afternoon tea. 

She meditated upon it, over her breakfast, and 
planned what she felt obliged to consider her day’s 
campaign. Mrs. Barker, quite restored to her nor- 
mal state, was again working hard over “ Day of 
Wrath, O Day of Mourning,” in the scullery. 

The poor thing was saved for the moment, said 
Petty-Zou to herself, from the clutches of the law; 
but she had a suspicion that some ingenuity would 
be required for the further protection of her charge. 
The alternatives that offered themselves to her 
mind were : either to find the runaway daughter, or 
to board the patient out at some pleasant place in 
the country until her stability was assured. Petty- 
Zou greatly preferred keeping the old woman under 
her own eye, but since the world was full of tire- 
some people who would never let one have one’s 
way, she supposed she must cast about for some- 
thing else. Her bacon grew cold while she consid- 
ered the problem of reaching the absent daughter — 
197 


198 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


who might indeed be in Australia or anywhere ; and 
on the other hand, wondered whether Tudor’s fa- 
ther-in-law would incline to take a lodger. The worst 
of that plan was, she feared, that if the constable 
knew all the facts, he would have ideas of his own 
in regard to the proper destination of the poor 
creature. 

For the time, Petty-Zou gave up the problem, and 
resolved very hard that she would look out for the 
day, and let the morrow take care of itself. The 
one essential thing was to get Mrs. Barker off 
somewhere before any Intruding Person had time 
to appear and prove how annoying he could be. At 
last, she had an inspiration: Mrs. Barker, Mrs. 
Wale and Danny — she could send them all to the 
Crystal Palace for a treat, with instructions that 
they need not be at home until evening. She fore- 
saw possibilities of other days at Hampton Court 
or Kew — a round of sight-seeing, the circum- 
stances of which made her laugh. 

But how dispose of herself? Another magic 
flash and she saw herself seated under the pon- 
derous yellow dome of the Reading Room at the 
British Museum. Was it possible that she had 
lived so many years abroad and knew nothing of 
her ancestry? She would take a day off and look 
them up: Miles Coverdale, of sanctified odour, and 
Jeremiah Pickersgill, who might or might not have 
been the fabulous pirate up in the family-tree. 

On the whole,, she had a dull day at the Museum. 


CROSS PURPOSES 


199 


She was not well used to its ways, and she found 
so many Jeremiah Pickersgills, all, it seemed, of 
more or less evil fame, that she got them tangled up 
inextricably in one another’s disreputable actions, 
and there she left them, throwing her bunch of 
notes into the waste-paper basket at the door. 

Pier chief reason for accepting the invitation to 
Portland Place, she told herself and the Countess, 
was that she was so surprised to find it within walk- 
ing distance of the Museum. 

Two or three times she had been on the point of 
turning back, and these were when she remembered 
her tormentor and wondered how the day had 
passed with him. But the upshot of her thought 
was, that Portland Place was safer from him this 
day than was Erasmus House; and that if they 
must meet, it would be convenient to have the 
Countess as a buckler against inconvenient ques- 
tions. 

Petty-Zou, very sweet and dainty in her grey 
furs and feathered hat, which she had felt to be 
somewhat out of keeping with the Museum, looked 
in her proper element as she ascended the broad 
stairway under the coloured rays from the Saver- 
nake arms in the window. 

The Countess, under the devastation of a severe 
cold, looked red-eyed and grim. 

“ Sit down. No, come up to the fire. You must 
be chilly. Where did you buy that hat? It looks 
extravagant.” 


200 the beggar in the heart 


“ In Regent Street. And perhaps it was extra- 
vagant — I don’t remember. But one must have 
a hat now and then. I didn’t see any cheap one 
that I could wear.” 

“ No wonder you are always poor! ” 

“ No wonder — but I don’t mind. And need 
you ? ” 

“ I have only your welfare at heart,” continued 
the older woman, and then Petty-Zou knew that 
something very bad was coming. “ Where would 
the Whartons be now if their ancestors had lived 
as the birds do — in your way ? ” 

Petty-Zou reflected: “ Well, they might be in 
Erasmus House. I can easily imagine your brother 
as a policeman ” — she enjoyed this bit of spite — 
“ though I can’t quite see you at the mangle. But 
then, it’s only ancestors that have responsibility ; and 
I’m not an ancestor.” 

“ All the more reason,” urged the Countess 
weightily, “ why you should learn to be frugal. 
You won’t have any descendants to look after you. 
An elderly woman unmarried is bound — as a mat- 
ter of duty — to lay by something.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Petty-Zou sweetly. 

“ Because she would otherwise go on the rates.” 

“ I shouldn’t like the workhouse,” said Petty-Zou. 
“ Indeed I wouldn’t go to the workhouse — not for 
anything in the world ! ” 

“ What would you do if you were penniless and 
friendless ? ” 


CROSS PURPOSES 


201 


“ I don’t think,” breathed Petty-Zou quickly, 
“ that I should ever be quite friendless.” 

“ Do you mean to tell me that you would be con- 
tent to let your friends keep you? ” 

Petty-Zou laughed and fenced : “ Why not ? It 
might be good for their souls.” 

“ Well — well,” said the Countess, “ I should not 
have thought it of you. You’ll be accepting charity 
next.” 

“ Why not ? ” asked Petty-Zou again. “ It 
would even things up a bit. Why should the giv- 
ing be always on the one side? If you are all 
wopsy from giving too much and I’m all lopsy from 
taking too much, why shouldn’t I give you a nice 
present when I can, five shillings’ worth of Brown- 
ing or of bread, whichever you may happen to be 
needing? Oh, you will never believe that we are 
all made of the same stuff, rich and poor! You’re 
so wound up and twisted in the rags of class, that 
you’ve come to feel them as a part of your body. 
You couldn’t call Mrs. Lemon sister , if you tried 
ever so ! When I hear people talk that way, I want 
to claw and claw them until I get down to the real 
skin and show them how many false layers they 
have grown. But it’s no good.” 

“ Sometimes I thing you are a little mad,” ob- 
served the Countess drily. “ All the same, I can’t 
help trying now and again to set before you the 
wisdom of economy before it’s too late. You’ll re- 
pent your folly some day.” 


202 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


If the Countess was endeavoring to draw Petty- 
Zou out on the disposition of the years to come, 
she had little for her pains. “ It is good of you,” 
said Petty-Zou, “ to take an interest in my old age. 
Did you invite me here to talk of that, or may we 
speak of something else ? ” 

Lady Savernake shook her head with doubtful 
meaning, but pursued the topic : “ Whenever any- 
body pays up, you feel your ten pounds as so much 
clear gain, forgetting the hours of work . . .” 

“ I work for love of my work, not for money,” 
interrupted Petty-Zou. 

“ But you live by the money,” said the Countess. 
“ You take your ten pounds, and off you go like a 
child to spend it as fast as you can.” 

“Wouldn’t you let me get any fun out of it?” 
asked Petty-Zou ruefully. 

“Fun? Yes, but not buy expensive hats, and 
beads and belt-buckles for your friends. . . .” 

“ It is not likely that Eleanor will soon be en- 
gaged again,” said Petty-Zou, defending herself 
with dignity. 

“ — and an armful of sweets and rubbish for the 
policeman’s family . . .” 

“ Not sweets.” 

“ — drums and trumpets and so on, for that 
little Lemon boy . . .” 

“ No, for Danny Wale; Pip hates noise as much 
as you do.” 

“ — and if you have any change left, you scatter 


CROSS PURPOSES 


203 


that among the hawkers of tin tortoises and studs 
and matches, and blind fiddlers. IPs as if you were 
ashamed to take any money home, although you 
may not have a week's supplies in your place. How 
you think to go on in this way, I cannot under- 
stand." 

But Petty-Zou would not be drawn into any 
hint of other hopes. “ As to the blind fiddlers," 
she said, “ they always have such wretched little 
dogs to hold out their cups — I haven't the heart 
to refuse them." 

“ So you encourage them in their cruel trade ? " 
said a voice from the doorway. 

Petty-Zou gave a start, and the gloves that she 
was swinging lightly fell to the floor. 

Lord Wharton came forward with his right hand 
in his pocket, and restored them to her with his left. 

“ Since when have you become left-handed, 
Philip ? " demanded the Countess. 

“Since yesterday." And to Petty-Zou: “We 
need to starve those fellows out of their unholy 
business; then perhaps they'll stop torturing dogs 
— see ? " 

“ Starve them ? " she asked. 

“ Turn them off to a decent occupation then. 
Most of them are men of means, and could afford 
to do nothing. If I hear of you wasting another 
penny on them, I’ll have you put up as a test case 
for cruelty to animals." She fancied the jest 
rather forced. 


204 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ What nonsense ! ” said the Countess irritably. 
“ Philip, if you are going, please go; and if you 
are staying, take off your top-coat. It always 
worries me to see a man wearing one in the house ; 
I can’t think of anything but the cold he’s 
catching.” 

“ Thanks for your solicitude. I only stepped in 
for a moment to excuse myself for my sudden de- 
parture last evening; but since you’re so pressing, 
I’ll stay.” 

As he withdrew to the hall, Petty-Zou got to her 
feet : “ I must go — really ; I — I have something 
to do.” 

The Countess studied her sharply : “ Why ? 
Does Wharton frighten you away ? ” 

At this, Petty-Zou sat down again in sheer de- 
fiance. 

Lord Wharton returned with his right hand 
thrust under his coat; and drew up a chair between 
the two women. 

u What’s the matter with you ? ” asked the 
Countess, quick to observe his awkwardness. 

“ Nothing. I’m all right. Oh, my hand — well 

— that was a — don’t laugh — it’s rather funny 

— a bite.” 

Petty-Zou gave a little moan, and to cover it, 
hastily jerked her chair nearer the fire. The Coun- 
tess looked at her inquiringly. 

“ A bite — in London ? ” she asked. “ How ex- 
traordinary ! What kind of animal may I ask ? ” 


CROSS PURPOSES 


205 


He leaned back in his chair, laughing: “ Well, 
it wasn’t a tiger, nor yet a wild cat ; but rather like 
both. I give you leave to guess.” 

“ Oh ! ” — Petty-Zou wrung her hands together 
— -“I must be going — really ! ” 

“ I don’t want to guess,” retorted the Countess, 
in a voice that effectually blocked her way. “ I 
hate mysteries. Why can’t you say at once that it 
was an ordinary dog? ” 

“ Well,” says he, “ if it was a dog, it was an 
ornery dog indeed.” He twinkled at Petty-Zou. 
“ Is that good American ? ” 

“ Whose dog? ” 

“ Mine.” His look challenged Petty-Zou to 
deny it ; and she hung her head in silence. 

“ Which ? Roy or Caesar ? ” 

“ Caesar has a devil of a temper,” he mused to 
the fire. 

“ Then you must sell him at once. . . .” 

“Oh!” said Petty-Zou a third time, jumped up 
and fairly ran to the door. 

But she was too much blinded by her tears to find 
the knob; and as she winked them away and 
fumbled, she heard a sentence that paralyzed her. 
It was the Countess, who had her back turned and 
doubtless thought her visitor was away. 

“ I beg of you, don’t make a fool of yourself, 
Philip!” 

Petty-Zou did not hear his answer, for the catch 
loosened and she thought she had escaped. 


206 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


But she was overtaken at the foot of the stairs 
by a man bent on having his way. He gave her 
no chance of refusal, because he asked no question, 
but he thrust her arm through his own and led her 
back into the library with as much state as if she 
had been a princess. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE TUG OF WAR 

“ In the first place,” said he. “ I have sent my 
sister upstairs.” 

“ Sent ? ” repeated Petty-Zou mechanically, but 
her thoughts were elsewhere. No sooner had he 
shut the library door than with a quick little gesture 
of appeal, she caught his right arm between her 
hands: “She bit you? Tell me! Was it so? ” 

He smiled down upon her: “ You heard my ex- 
planation. Let sleeping dogs lie.” 

“ You should have told me — oh, you should 
have told me last night ! ” she said piteously. 

“ I do not tell you now.” 

“ Oh, but I never saw — I never thought — It 
is most distressing! ” 

“ I am sorry for that,” said he amiably. “ But 
now, come and sit by the fire. I have a word or 
two to say to you.” 

She perceived his drift and braced herself for 
the shock of accusation. She could have avoided 
it, she knew, only by flight; and flight now was 
ignominious, if not impossible. 

She was almost disappointed when instead of fac- 
20 7 


208 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


ing her with a direct sledge-hammer question, he 
fenced insidiously : “ It is some years since I formed 
the opinion that the whole human race is afflicted 
with insanity — which is to say merely, that none 
of us have that balance of powers which is consid- 
ered essential to the safety of a nation or an — ” 

“ Do please come to the point.” 

“ Coming. My insanity, on the surface at least, 
seems harmless ; it runs to coins and medals ; yours 
runs to good deeds and is perilous.” 

She looked down and no words came. 

“ Yes,” he continued deliberately, “ as I have 
often told you before, you need a keeper. You 
have refused me the post, so . . .” 

This was so unlike what she had expected, that 
her penitence for what he had suffered — due as it 
was to his love of meddling — overbalanced for 
the time her championship of the unfortunate char- 
woman. “ I wish,” she breathed softly, “ I could 
make you feel how sorry I am ! ” 

“ For your madness, or for my hand? ” he asked 
drily. 

“ Oh, for your hand . . 

Before he could imagine what she would be at, 
she had seized the bandaged member again between 
her fingers : “ Oh, dear, deary ! ” 

“ I might be a dog with a thorn in his paw. I 
don’t believe in your repentance,” said he, half 
bitterly. 

“ I am humbling myself,” she entreated. “ I say 


THE TUG OF WAR 


209 

it was all my fault ; I thought I was only doing right 
by the poor thing . . 

“ Doubtless,’’ he cut across the break in her 
speech. 

“ But you think me a cat all the same ? ” 

He laughed a little, and moved as if to withdraw 
his hand, but she held it fast. “ No, but you seem 
to balance the happiness of Mrs. Barker over 
against the feelings of the rest of us.” 

“ Why,” she asked, “ do you think her really 
dangerous ? ” 

“ Dangerous ? Oh, you little — ! ” 

“ Yes, I know, but I thought that was because I’m 
such a coward. Any sensible person . . 

“. . . would have had her safe in an asylum 

long ago,” he concluded neatly. 

She released his hand then and leaned back in 
her chair; but he did not remove it from her knee. 

“Eh?” he asked as if to force an opinion, but 
had no answer. 

“ I wonder ” — she began, fearful of uttering 
her thought. She wondered why he did not ask 
concerning the last act in the drama of the night 
before, or declare his further part in it after they 
had separated. 

“ I wonder,” he seized upon her phrase, “ who 
is capable of taking care of you, since I am forbid- 
den that right ? ” 

She stared at him in amazement, not able to be- 
lieve that she had heard correctly. He was not 


2io THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


speaking in jest; there was no twinkle in his eyes. 
But she made an effort to answer in kind : “ I won- 
der. .Who did — all the years after Uncle Ben — 
before I knew you ? ” 

“ Is Providence your meaning ? But you were 
not particularly well looked after, Petty-Zou. 
Providence needs a deputy.” 

She could not help the shadow of a smile, think- 
ing of him as a rival to Mrs. Tudor in that office. 
“ Did you bring me back to tell me that ? ” she 
asked, seeing that he was curious to know the 
meaning of her smile. 

“ I don’t know that I should have insisted, on 
bringing you back, if I had not seen you so palpably 
running away. Why did you come ? ” 

“ Partly because it was undignified to resist, and 
partly because I was — sorry for your — your — ” 

“ Bite ? ” — he would not mince the word. 

She sent him a remorseful look, from which he 
turned away with visible impatience. She was 
fairly tormented to ask why he omitted to speak 
about the conclusion of the night before. 

" I don’t know,” he continued, almost as if mus- 
ing aloud, “ whether I have apologized to you for 
my abrupt departure. The hand was swelling a 
trifle; and it seemed advisable not to delay having 
it cauterized. To avoid an inquest, you know,” 
he concluded lightly. “ I shouldn’t like to think of 
you as a witness.” 

“ Did you go back again last night ? ” trembled 


THE TUG OF WAR 


21 1 


on her lips, but could not find utterance. However, 
sometimes he showed a certain power of reading her 
thoughts. “ Naturally,” he went on, “ I returned 
as soon as I could, and was completely mystified. I 
couldn’t make head or tail of the situation till this 
morning.” 

“ This morning ? ” 

“ Yes. Of course, I had given Tudor a hint to 
be on the look-out . . .” 

Her fear showed plainly. She was so accus- 
tomed to think of Tudor as the father of a family, 
that she sometimes forgot his official powers. She 
had omitted him from this present calculation. 

“ First thing this morning,” said he, in a matter- 
of-fact tone, “ I went to the relieving-officer, and 
by the time we had made a correct sum out of our 
units of information, Tudor was below in a 
cab . . 

“ Not with — ? ” Petty-Zou rose and walked 
away, leaning against a table, with her back to 
him, trembling very much. 

He did not change his tone however : “ Yes. 
You see now why I wanted to talk to you. . . . 

He had intercepted her with Mrs. Wale and Danny, 
just turned the corner on their way to the Crystal 
Palace. . . . That reminds me ” — he fumbled 

in his pockets — “ I have some money for you. Tu- 
dor made her disgorge. I thought it as well. She 
will be cared for.” 

He had spoken with pauses, expecting interrup- 


212 the beggar in the heart 


tion — hard words at every turn. As nothing 
came, he went to face her across the table, studying 
her with an anxious frown. 

At this, she turned away, went back to her chair, 
and covered her face with her hands. 

He also resumed his place, and waited until the 
silence grew intolerable, then began : “ I was ex- 
tremely sorry — ” 

“Mrs. Wale and Danny?” she murmured. 

“ Oh, they’re all right. They went on, you know. 
No need to stop their fun. Mrs. Wale was dis- 
tinctly relieved.” After another gap, he observed, 
“ All the same, she’s a treacherous woman ! ” 

“Petty-Zou” — he tried again; and thereupon 
she broke down and rocked herself, and cried a 
little. 

Intensely uncomfortable, he waited until she 
should find her self-control. His relief came sooner 
than he expected. “To think,” she said miserably, 
“ that you should have been hurt for nothing ! It 
was bad enough when I found what she — she had 
done to you ; but it’s worse to think that nobody has 
had even the least bit of good out of it. Poor, dear 
thing ! ” 

“Are you alluding to me or to Mrs. Barker?” 
he asked, leaning towards her. 

She wanted to say, “ Both! ” The temptation 
was so strong upon her that the word almost over- 
came her will, and uttered itself. 

He may have felt this when he said : “You 


THE TUG OF AVAR 


213 

might easily make it up to us both, if you would be 
kind.” 

“ It’s always that — always, always that,” she 
sighed. 

“ Why, so it is,” he answered simply. “ She’s 
one kind of beggar; I’m another. But Sidonia is 
sorry for me” 

“ I’m thinking of Mrs. Barker,” said she. 

“ That’s Tyrrhena,” said he. “ Moreover, you 
are infringing upon the rights of government. She 
belongs to the state now, and will be well thought 
about and looked after. Besides, it’s no manner of 
use . . .” 

“ Where is she ? ” demanded Petty-Zou. 

He shrugged, with annoying coolness: “You 
are not the only one, my dear lady, who can with- 
hold desired information.” 

“ But surely I have a right . . .” 

“ No right whatever,” he assured her. “ Come, 
we shall be parting in a moment. Aren't you going 
to say something nice to me before you go? I 
don’t want any thanks for getting you out of this 
scrape; but you might just promise me that you’ll 
be good for a time.” 

“ I can’t be — according to your ideas. We have 
to quarrel ! ” 

“ I’m not quarrelling,” said he imperturbably. 
“ And one person can’t quarrel with any degree of 
success. Figuratively speaking, I should lock you 
up in a cupboard occasionally if — circumstances 


214 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


were different — but that wouldn’t be quarrelling.” 

She hesitated a moment, then changed the sub- 
ject : “ I have something to say to you about the 

little gods — ” 

“ No, for I haven’t unpacked the others yet. 

“ I’m not interested,” said he. “ We were talk- 
ing about their little mistress.” 

She sighed and rose to go : “ You are hopeless. 

I shall send you the money soon.” 

“ But we haven’t come out anywhere,” he pro- 
tested, ready to laugh if she would. 

“ We never do,” she said, moving towards the 
door. 

“ No, and we shall soon be so old that we shall 
totter from the church to the grave, when we are 
married. All your talk about independence now — 
that counts for nothing at all . . .” 

“Nothing?” — she was on Pegasus now. “Is 
it nothing to have a quiet nest all to one’s self in 
the very heart of the world and watch the beating of 
life all around? Nothing to make frail, beautiful, 
perishable things, and to look on at the moulding of 
the great things that last forever . . . ? ” She 

paused for breath. 

“Stuff!” said he. “You would be more com- 
fortable in another heart, and you could work and 
watch to more advantage. Shut your eyes and 
jump. I’ll catch you and see that no bones are 
broken.” 

She did shut her eyes, but disobeyed his second 


THE TUG OF WAR 


215 


injunction, although for a second he fancied that 
she might let him carry out the part he had sug- 
gested for himself. 

Then she spoke with scorn : “ The sight would 

interest your friends ! ” 

“ Well, that’s their gain; and as long as you are 
happy . . 

She paused in their step together, and turned upon 
him a face and voice that admitted of no further 
contention. 

“ Do you wish our friendship to stop — from this 
moment ? ” 

He looked at her long and shrewdly; then, still 
with his eyes upon her, though she would no longer 
meet them, he drew out his watch. “ Certainly 
not,” said he, and made as if to note the time. 
“ Since I must choose — the lesser evil. From this 
moment.” He snapped his watch-case : “ You 

will permit me to put you into a cab.” 

“ No, thank you ” — she mentioned the butler. 
He rang at once. 

She had reached the door before she looked back : 
“ Still, you must understand that I am most un- 
happy on account of — of . . .” 

He did not offer to help her out ; but bowed in si- 
lence. 

And both felt as they parted a distinct tightening 
of the old rope of their contention ; and there seemed 
no hope that either would let go or either win. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


CIGARS AND CONSPIRACY IN ST. JAMES’S PARK 

And afterwards came the whirlwind, as Lord 
Wharton had anticipated. An elderly countess 
cannot be sent, like a schoolgirl, to sulk it out, with- 
out exacting payment from somebody after. The 
earl was, conveniently for everybody, away; so the 
offending brother took his lecture with becoming 
gravity, in a silence that enabled him to ponder on 
other matters until he was roused to a consciousness 
of having answered absurdly. When he had al- 
lowed his sister what he considered sufficient lib- 
erty, he rose and observed that it was time to go 
home and dress for dinner. “ The more so,” he 
added, “ as you have not left me a rag of character 
to walk about in. You may like to know, however, 
that my opinion and intention are unaltered.” 

He was gone before she could gather force for 
a new attack. 

While Petty-Zou in her flat, was mourning over 
the unhappy fate of her adopted charge, and trying 
to find the hole in the armour of her conscience by 
which so much evil had come in, the meddler was 
dining with two old Harrow friends in such a pitia- 
216 


CIGARS AND CONSPIRACY 


217 


ble state of distraction that they rallied him upon 
being in love. “If that were all ” — said he gloom- 
ily, then roused himself and turned their curiosity 
aside with a joke. 

He was disgusted with himself for sleeping so 
badly at night; at breakfast he pondered over his 
folly in wanting the impossible, and his stupidity 
m not getting what he wanted. After breakfast, 
he devoted himself to problems of ways and means 
at such a rate as to preclude all external activity. 
He worried his man into a state of counting up the 
prospects of a change, as on the day before. 

By midday, the upshot of his reflection was: “ If 
absence is to do it, I’d better be off again, and Tu- 
dor’s the man. Perhaps the old Whartons’ motto 
will fit this present usurper — Vidus vinco. We 
shall see.” 

He went off to luncheon so briskly, humming an 
air from Madame Butterfly , that his valet was com- 
forted and observed to the porter : “ All’s well as 

yet. But he’s taken to such wariability — worka- 
bility I may call it — that I don’t know when I’m to 
expect the fatal stroke. That’s the worst o’ some 
gentlemen, you don’t know where you’ve got ’em 
till they’re gone.” 

“ Do you think it’s money ? ” asked the porter 
confidentially. 

The man spread out his shoulders — a way he 
had acquired abroad — in utter contempt : “ Any- 

way you've seen the last of us for some time. Goin’ 


218 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


down to the ’all we are, to-morrow. Just as 
things is briskin’ up a bit in town! I say it’s di- 
gestion — or liver — maybe both. Which reminds 
me that I must be about the packin’.” 

After luncheon, the gentleman who might be 
suffering from liver or indigestion, had an appoint- 
ment in the Park — I would say St. James’s Park — 
on the low bridge where one may stand profitably 
for hours and watch the ducks and other fowl at 
their game of life. It is cold in January, however; 
and the ruddy man, so observing while he smoked, 
being ahead of time, was not sorry to hear the 
tramp of Tudor’s feet. A cigar established a 
friendly basis at once. 

A few compliments concerning the successful 
removal of the lunatic from Erasmus House, ex- 
panded the P. C.’s chest to its full girth. 

“ Such things help a man to get on,” observed 
the speaker; and the listener hoped inwardly that 
his lordship would remember it long. He waited 
delicately for the business of the interview to be 
introduced, though in his own mind, he believed he 
had some inkling of the subject. 

But Lord Wharton was so slow to bring forward 
any matter approaching the theme in his mind that 
Tudor, from sheer nervousness, said at last: “ All 
the same, such accidents as we was a-speakin’ of, 
wouldn’t happen except with a lady — we’ll men- 
tion no names, my lord.” , 

“ Ah ? ” said the other, smoking blandly. 


CIGARS AND CONSPIRACY 219 


“ And yet I may say there’s a many — includ- 
ing the whole of Erasmus House solid — as would 
follow ’er to the h’ends o’ the h’earth ” — his h’s 
increased with agitation — “ she’s been that kind to 
’em.” 

“Ah?” said Lord Wharton again, and: “Tu- 
dor, you’ve got a sharp eye.” 

The big policeman blushed into his pale beard, 
and could find no response. 

“ Keep it open.” 

“Which when it is done, my lord . . .?” 

he inquired delicately. 

“ Continue. Keep it open. Till you’re told to 
shut it. See ? ” His lordship gave a short laugh. 

Tudor was not sure that he understood, and was 
troubled by a faint but unpleasant suspicion that 
he was asked to play the spy : “ Your lordship 

don’t think as I’m a man to be ... I come 
out of pure friendship, my lord, if I may say so, 
without offence, in a manner of speaking.” 

“ No offence,” said his lordship. “ I understand.” 

At this Tudor ventured a step further : “ There’s 
a thing I may say : whatever is done, must not seem 
to be done, or it’s undone by the fact.” 

“ Quite so,” said Lord Wharton, nodding ap- 
proval. 

“ And furthermore, what she wants — to mention 
no names — is a stagemanager-like ” — for a mo- 
ment the Wharton eyes were upon him too sharply, 
but he pursued in all innocence — “ and I’ve been 


220 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


castin’ my mind about for the person what would 
make her take care of herself proper/’ 

“ Well?” 

“ There’s my missus. Built for the place to a 
T, but considerin’ of her family . . At last, 

he tugged forth the thought from under his strag- 
gling mustache: “ I can’t think of nobody but my 
wife’s sister.” 

“ Hem,” said his lordship, laying his cigar on the 
bridge-railing. “ Go on.” 

“ Her name is Rosa Gunglewick.” 

Lord Wharton waited. 

“ She’d do. I’d go bail for her to any amount.” 
He brought down his fist with such emphasis that 
the cigar plumped into the water; but at this, he 
was so overcome by his own rudeness, that the 
offer of a fresh one for each, scarcely tuned him up 
to his former pitch of emotion. Still, his assur- 
ance carried no less weight: “When I says a 
thing, I stands by it . . .” 

“ How old is she ? ” interrupted his client. 

“ Nearin’ the end of her teens. But it’s said 
in the family that she were born a grandmother. 
She’s brought up half the village already. And if 
you want to know what she’s like, she’s my missus, 
three-quarter size, only more so. Trust me, 
m’lord.” 

“ I see,” said that gentleman, his face illum- 
inated by a sudden idea. “ Would she come, do 
you think ? ” 


CIGARS AND CONSPIRACY '221 


“ She’s pinin’ for a town place. There’s nothin’ 
left for her to do in the country.” 

“ She sounds the right person,” admitted Lord 
Wharton, his second cigar in some peril. 

“ I’d trust her to carry the Crown Jewels across 
England, and deliver ’em up safe. She isn’t much 
of a looker — you can see that my missus has other 
points than looks — but she’s solid; and what’s 
more, m’lord — although bein’ as it’s in the family, 
I don’t know as I ought to mention it — she’s got 
brains — Rosa ! Sense, you know. Not that her 
schoolin’s much.” 

“ But, look here ” — the other man was struck 
with a fresh difficulty. “ You may get your sis- 
ter-in-law up to London. How will you get — 
get — ” he stumbled to evade names — “ get her en- 
gaged in the place we were speaking of? ” 

“ Trust Rosa for that,” said Tudor; and in his 
extreme pleasure, his two tusks projected over his 
yellow beard. “ If I was to sum her up in a word,” 
he continued impressively, “ although she is my 
sister-in-law, it would be: what she wants, she 
gets.” 

At a look of doubt — or at least of consideration 
on his lordship’s face, Tudor hastened to add: 
“ What I mean is, if she undertakes to keep the 
place clear of Bumpuses and lunatic charwomen 
and such-like — and I’ll be responsible that she 
does undertake it — she’ll put it through. With 
me in the background to send word in case o’ any- 


222 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


think un’eard of turns up as we carn’t ’andle be- 
tween us — you know me l ” 

It was clear that Lord Wharton did ; and saw, or 
thought he saw, some advantage to be reaped from 
this conspiracy. 

“ You shall not suffer,” he assured Tudor, “ nor 
Rosa, if it turns out well . . 

Tudor snorted — respectfully, be it understood. 

The remainder of their interview was of times 
and communications and methods — dull details 
that need not be written. 

They parted in excellent humour both. Indeed, 
it must be confessed that Lord Wharton walked 
across the Park, chuckling and twinkling in his own 
way. And Tudor, striding in the opposite direc- 
tion, was so exuberant that he caught a small boy 
from forbidden ground behind the palings and 
tossed him on the path as easily as if he had been a 
puppy, with a clap on each ear, two shakes and a 
friendly : “ There’s somethink to go on with ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE HISTORY OF FIVE WEEKS ENDS WITH HYDRO- 
PHOBIA 

If I may be believed, for the next four or five 
weeks, Petty-Zou was positively, forlornly, mor- 
tally dull ; I am wrong — this would have been her 
state, had she not been busy, all day long and much 
of the evening. She worked hard on old commis- 
sions, and promised herself to collect before Easter 
a crop of cheques that would repay Lord Wharton 
and keep her, on reasonable terms, for two or three 
months. 

This same while, Lord Wharton was at Wharton 
Hall, the seat of the ancient line, on a slope of 
the North Downs. He was making out a com- 
plete catalogue of his cameos, and studying — with 
lapses — the newest treatises on political economy 
and sociology. And if he did not suffer intolerably 
from ennui, it was because of his long solitary 
rides across the hills, that kept him in health and 
spirits. Once a week regularly, he lost his temper, 
when an oddly-composed letter came into his hands, 
always by the same post, as if by agreement. It 
stated invariably that Rosa Gunglewick was de- 
223 


224 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


tained at her home, nursing a poor, friendless, bed- 
ridden widow, too ill to be moved to the House, 
but expected daily to breathe her last. However, 
Rosa’s box was ready packed, and all was well in 
Erasmus House, where the writer kept a sharp eye 
open. These communications always sent Lord 
Wharton into a muse, whence he emerged with what 
might have been interpreted as a long breath or a 
heavy sigh, according to the mood of the onlooker, 
and had a turn at numismatics or land reform. 
And I must confess that at this time of year, his 
absence from Parliament was inexcusable. 

Larry was still on tour, picking up stray laurels 
here and there. 

Eleanor was nursing her convalescent aunt into 
health and reluctant approval of her profes- 
sion and engagement. She had letters from Lar- 
ry, which preserved a delicate balance between the 
assurance that he could scarcely eat his meals for 
remembering her sweet face, and lest she should 
worry about his health, the comfort that he had 
never before been so well in his life. She heard 
from Petty-Zou occasionally — chatty fragments in 
a bold handwriting, which told her all the news and 
nothing that she wished to know: how the Jakeses 
had been threatened again for not paying their 
rent, and the Boococks feeling lonely, had taken in 
a lodger, and the writer felt that she ought to re- 
port them to somebody or other for overcrowding, 
but lacked the heart to do so until S. Boocock 


HISTORY OF FIVE WEEKS 


225 


should be in work again; but she was discouraged 
about human nature, upon finding out that the bath 
she had bought for the McCallahans had been con- 
verted into a bed for the two youngest ... Of 
herself, not a word. But yes, in a postscript, she 
occasionally declared herself convinced that hard 
work and freedom were the keys to happiness 
. . . “ Bosh ! ” said Eleanor rudely, and had to 

explain herself to her aunt. 

Early in March she was released, and flew up to 
town on an express, her heart piping to the tune 
of a cheque for twenty pounds bestowed by her 
grateful relative; and a letter from Larry announc- 
ing his speedy return, in her muff, where it was 
convenient for drawing forth as a frequent solace 
to her eyes. 

She rushed into Petty-Zou’s rooms, with scarcely 
a preliminary knock, and found two heads together, 
yellow and brown on the hearth-rug. With two 
several Hurroos! she was caught on both sides and 
dragged down upon the settle, with wide destruc- 
tion to an African farm, two armies and a butcher- 
shop. 

“ So this is how you work to keep happy ? ” said 
Eleanor, when she had breath to speak. 

“ This last week/’ explained Petty-Zou, “ has 
been somewhat demoralized. And Pip has been 
threatened with bronchitis ” — the small lad at once 
^demonstrated his powers of coughing — “ so we 
have been a little . . .” 


226 [THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


From the scullery came a curious, creaking 
sound. 

“iWhat’s that?” whispered Eleanor, and with a 
sudden tug of fearful memories, she stopped pulling 
at her glove. 

Petty-Zou cocked her head on one side and looked 
at her with the air of an impertinent sparrow : 44 I 

think it’s trying to be 4 Sun of my Soul.’ ” 

“Yes, but who?” Eleanor was pale enough to 
have sobered any sparrow. However, it was Pip 
who answered by pulling a farthing’s worth of 
vicious-looking hoarhound drops from his tiny 
pocket : 44 She gave them to me ” — his head in- 

dicated the scullery. 

44 Petty-Zou — oh, don’t say it is! ” pleaded Elea- 
nor. 

44 Then I must tell a lie,” answered Petty-Zou 
calmly. 

Eleanor was quiet with despair : 44 Then you 

outwitted us all ? ” 

44 So I thought,” answered Petty-Zou. Then she 
coloured : 44 But I met my match after.” 

44 Do you mean to say that you have kept her 
here all along ? ” 

Petty-Zou shook her head very sadly : 44 Oh, 

no, I did my best; but they got her away. How- 
ever, after a month in that awful place — I 
wouldn’t even ask questions about it — they dis- 
charged the poor thing cured, and she came straight 
to me, of course.” 


HISTORY OF FIVE WEEKS 22^ 

“ Of course ! ” Eleanor attempted feeble irony. 
“ How many tantrums has she had since? ” 

“ Is tantrums good to eat? ” ventured Pip. 

“ No, dear/’ said Petty-Zou. “ Don’t you want 
to go and give the McCallahans some of your 
sweets ? ” 

“ Yes ” — Pip nodded; and when Petty-Zou fell 
upon him for his generosity, felt conscience-bound 
to add : “ They isn’t very good.” 

“ They’ll do less harm then,” said Petty-Zou, as 
Pip closed the door after him, “ distributed among 
a large number. Now — jump on me if you want 
to — she can’t hear.” 

“ If I had had any suspicion ” — began Eleanor. 

“ But you wouldn’t, you know. No really nice 
person ever has a nasty suspicious mind ; and as for 
foresight and all that, the wisdom of babes and 
fools is sometimes preferable to the astuteness of 
the serpent that thinks only about feathering his 
own nest . . .” 

Eleanor laughed, more hysterical than amused: 
“ Poor Lord Wharton ! I’m glad Pip wasn’t here 
to carry those broken lights of philosophy to his 
mother. You’re too much for me, Petty-Zou. I 
can only be thankful that you have kept alive so 
far.” 

“ It was simple,” said she. “ I fretted a while, 
I’ll admit; but in the end it came right, as you 
see. 

“ I don’t understand one thing,” said Eleanor. 


228 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ Where was she when I came back with the reliev- 
ing-officer ? ” 

Petty-Zou explained briefly her little transac- 
tion with Mrs. Wale. 

“ So all the time we were stewing about her — ” 

“ She was eating sausage-rolls. She told me 
after that she had three, besides the kidney-pudding. 
Moral — why stew ? ” 

Eleanor shrugged and forbore to say : “You 
pitched us headlong into the broth! ” Instead, she 
commented: “You Machiavelli in pinafores !” 

“ No,” said Petty-Zou. “ He's Machiavelli. He 
won.” Her emphasis was unmistakable and 
withering. 

“ I’m not so sure,” said Eleanor. “ The woman’s 
here. Where is he ? ” 

“ Haven’t an idea,” said Petty-Zou, hands in 
pockets, chin in air, with the plain mental addition : 
“ It doesn’t concern me.” 

They matched each other’s stare a moment; then 
Petty-Zou said sweetly : “ Mrs. Barker shall be 

getting some tea for us.” 

“ Wait a bit. I can’t drink tea till I’ve got my 
bearings. And don’t try to heap coals of fire by 
being polite. You deserve rude treatment; and I 
think I shall give it you.” 

Petty-Zou shrugged. 

“ How long has the woman been here ? ” 

“ Some days only.” 

“Does Tudor know?” 


HISTORY OF FIVE WEEKS 


229 


" “Yes, he came up in a hurry; but she’s as sane 
as you or me. He couldn’t say or do anything, you 
know.” 

“ Petty-Zou, I love you,” said Eleanor, “ and 
you’re the trial of my life ! ” 

Petty-Zou moved a little nearer and laid her hand 
on the younger woman’s knee. 

“ Yes,” persisted Eleanor, “ you are. Now tell 
me how matters stand with you.” 

“ Well,” said Petty-Zou gaily, “ I’m making 
money: there’s a ten guineas due me and three 
fives and a seven and I don’t know how many twos 
and threes . . .” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Eleanor. “ I wasn’t thinking 
of money.” 

“You’ve always scolded me because I over- 
looked it. But it’s highly important when you’ve 
little gods to pay for.” 

“ It’s not half as important as that bunch of 
wallflowers,” said Eleanor, unbending at a sudden 
memory. “ I’ve a cheque for twenty pounds ! 
Money is dross, my dear! I was inquiring into 
your state of mind.” 

“Oh, that?” was the light answer. “If you 
mean that — it’s over and done with — buried, with 
a monument and an epitaph.” 

“ I should like to see them,” said Eleanor. 

“ Should you? ” she asked, looking at her friend 
very gravely. “ I found time to make one in 
odd moments. It’s nearly finished. Come.” 


2 3 o THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


She led the way into the workroom, and flung 
aside a sheet, thus bringing to light a replica of the 
green man of Cosenza — a replica, yet in some ways 
different, recognizable. Eleanor gazed at it in si- 
lence. 

“ The inscription/' said Petty-Zou, in a voice 
that trembled in her despite — “ the epitaph, is not 
to be put on yet a while." 

“ And what is to become of the figure? ” asked 
Eleanor. 

“ It shall be bequeathed by will," said Petty-Zou, 
covering up the medallion. “ I should like to in- 
scribe it myself, as the last thing I do. Perhaps, I 
shall — some day." 

“ And feeling that way, you have cast him off ? " 
demanded Eleanor, breathless. “ Why, it's as if I 
— Larry . . ." 

“ The case is altogether different, my dear," said 
Petty-Zou, with her most grandmotherly air. “ And 
I have the best reasons in the world. But I can’t 
tell you now — perhaps some day . . .” 

“When did you see him last?" asked Eleanor 
abstractedly. 

Thereupon Petty-Zou gave a brief and bald ac- 
count of their interview in Portland Place, conclud- 
ing : “ Aside from my real reason, which is neither 

here nor there, Nell, think what it would mean: 
a man in his position and a vagabond-potter ! 
Yes, don’t protest. I might want to take to the 
road any moment — if I felt the fever coming on." 


HISTORY OF FIVE WEEKS 231 


As they returned to the sitting-room, Eleanor 
asked, still absently: “Tell me, did you shake 
hands that night ? ” 

“ Oh, Eleanor, you know — you know . . ? ” 

“ I knew at the time.” 

“ That hurt most of all ! ” 

“ And yet you were happy enough when I came 
in just now,” said the girl, with the intolerance of 
youth. 

“Happy — yes,” said Petty-Zou softly. “You 
don’t understand yet. One learns to be happy with 
so little — like children again. One is happy most- 
ly — when one is old . . 

The sweetly-pitched tone, or perhaps the sugges- 
tion of greater experience, angered Eleanor. She 
felt that Petty-Zou deserved punishment, and had a 
sudden inspiration that helped her to hit hard. 

“ So you haven’t worried about his hand ? Is it 
well ? ” 

“Worried? Well? I should hope so,” said 
Petty-Zou innocently. 

Then Eleanor launched her malicious arrow : 
“ Because I have heard — or perhaps read in some- 
thing I had to review — that the bite of a lunatic 
may be as infectious as that of a mad dog. It has 
been known, I think, to give hydrophobia . . 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE RUINS OF ROME 

The following morning, Eleanor wanted to in- 
vite Petty-Zou and Larry to lunch with her, as a 
sort of christening of the twenty pounds; but after 
her cruelty the day before, she dared not face her 
friend, so consulted Larry. 

“ Oho ! ” says he, “ so you’ve set her a-worrying, 
have you? Not a bad idea. Leave her to her own 
thoughts to-day. It may help on the case. Be- 
sides which, my dear girl, I’ve an important re- 
hearsal, which forbids my sitting an hour over 
lunch. But to-morrow . . .” 

Ay, to-morrow — to-morrow — a piteous word! 

Then said Larry, reluctantly tearing himself 
away : “ It will be mortal funny . . . She’ll 
be studying the newspaper bulletins for ‘ Tragic 
Fate of a Peer,’ and so on. Upon my word, if she 
didn’t need badgering into a state of happiness ap- 
proaching our own, I’d go up and give her a hint 
that it’s all your gaff . . .” 

“ But I thought as I said it that there might be 
something in it, Larry,” she answered seriously. 

“ Well,” said he, “ I’m more afraid of the old 
232 


THE RUINS OE ROME 


233 


woman than of the hydrophobia. They may call 
her cured, but I’d like to spirit her away all the 
same. ,, 

“ Then/' said Eleanor, “ we’ve a choice of two 
things, either to find the daughter or a comfortable 
home for the mother . . 

“ The state ? ” he suggested. 

“ That would cost us Petty-Zou’s friendship.” 

“ Better lose her friendship than — however, 
we’ll try to bring her to reason at lunch to-morrow. 
And we’ll make her happy first by taking off the 
burden of the hydrophobia. She will have had 
enough of it by then.” 

Later, that same morning, when Eleanor returned 
from posting her letters, she encountered old Sea- 
scale at his door. 

“ Glad to see you back, miss,” said he. “ You’re 
at work early. Eh, but Miss Petty-Zou goes you 
one better. She come down and borrowed six o’ 
my medical books before I’d finished my breakfast.” 

All that day, Eleanor kept at work in her own 
room and resisted the temptation to run up and 
comfort the foolish little body whom she must have 
hurt so grievously. 

Many times it seemed to her that Petty-Zou’s 
step passed her door, climbing up and down, until 
she had a vague fear that some fresh mischief 
might be afoot. If she could but have made up 
her mind whether it was her place to forgive or to 
be forgiven, she might have ventured to go up, or 


234 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


if she had detected any degree of penitence in Petty- 
Zou’s footfall. But it seemed to snap with increas- 
ing defiance on the third floor landing. 

Towards evening, Eleanor grew so restless that 
she made herself excuses for going out. She 
walked round and round the little park in the shelter 
of Victoria Tower, where the almond trees were 
budding and there was already the prick of the 
green through the black. 

At dusk, coming through the gate, she encoun- 
tered Petty-Zou herself homeward bent. She 
seemed too tired to respond to Eleanor’s greeting; 
but she struggled to hold her head up : “ It’s one 

of those premature spring days that take all one’s 
strength.” 

“ Where have you been?” asked Eleanor, think- 
ing that Petty-Zou’s appearance warranted abrupt 
inquiry. 

Still she feigned lightness : “ Through Oxford 
Circus, for one place. Did you ever see such flow- 
ers ? Mimosa — it made me remember the golden- 
rod in New England — only it’s so sweet. And the 
anemones, little rosy, green-hearted nobbles, and 
these ” — she flashed the spice of a bunch of wall- 
flowers across Eleanor’s face. 

“ Yes, but ” — the friend insisted. 

“No huts” she pleaded. 

Eleanor was ruthless : “ Where have you been ? 

Tell me without dodging.” 

“ North and south and east and west.” 


THE RUINS OF ROME 


235 


“ But you said you would try to finish Lady 
Susan’s tea-set. You haven’t too much time before 
the wedding.” 

“ Buts always lead to unpleasantness. I changed 
my mind.” 

They began to climb the stairway of Erasmus 
House. Petty-Zou clung to the railings, trying to 
laugh. “ I feel,” said she, “ like a certain Rough 
Rider from the Wild West Show, whom Tudor 
told me about. He was staring at the statue of — 
no, I won’t give it away; and when Tudor came 
up and nudged him, he said : 4 Say, bobby, is it 

him or me that’s got a jag on.’ I think it’s the 
stairway. Go away. I’m not ill — nor yet alto- 
gether decrepit.” 

The Tudors’ door was open; and they caught a 
glimpse of a ponderous blue uniform at the tea- 
table. 

“ That’s one good thing,” breathed Eleanor to 
herself. 

As they approached the top landing — Eleanor 
having made no pause at her own — Petty-Zou 
condescended to say : “ I’ve been hunting all day 

for her daughter. I ought to have done it long ago ; 
but it did seem like finding a needle in a haystack. 
She gave me addresses of people who might have 
heard something. Some I couldn’t find, others po- 
licemen told me I’d better let alone ; and those I did 
see wouldn’t show their faces and didn’t know any- 
thing at all — not even their own names.” 


236 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ So you haven’t succeeded ? ” 

“ Not yet. I wonder why she doesn’t have a 
light? ” 

Eleanor’s glance followed hers to the transom: 
“ Did you leave her here ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Petty-Zou, fumbling with her latch- 
key, in the not brilliantly-lighted hall. 

Unchallenged Eleanor went with her into the 
blackness of the room. 

Petty-Zou stumbled and gave a little cry of pain. 

“What is it?” Eleanor had closed the door 
after her and could see nothing by the faint light 
that came over the transom. 

“ Something sharp ran into my foot. She must 
be asleep. Oh, where are the matches ? Mrs. Bar- 
ker — O Mrs. Barker ! ” 

She had no answer, and stumbled on further, with 
sounds as if she were knocking against furniture, 
and now and again she seemed to send small objects 
rolling away from beneath her feet. 

“Whatever are you doing? ” called Eleanor from 
the door. 

“ Trying to find the matches. A room always 
seems topsy-turvy in the dark — ah, here ! ” 

There was a scratch, a flare, and the gas streamed 
up towards the ceiling, with smoke and little ex- 
plosions of air. But neither woman had attention 
for such a trifle. The room was wrecked as if 
by an earthquake. Pictures were torn from the 
walls and lay with broken glasses, among heaps of 


THE RUINS OF ROME 


237 


torn, sprawling books; chairs were keeled over, 
draperies scattered in lumps, and fragments of 
broken objects made the floor look like a dust- 
heap. 

Neither Eleanor nor Petty-Zou thought of Mrs. 
Barker until the former at a crunch under her foot 
beheld a fragment of delicate china showing a green 
and blue peacock’s tail ; whereupon she remembered 
Lady Susan’s tea-set and groaned. At this, there 
came a sudden chuckle from a corner of the room. 
Both turned at once and beheld the author of the 
deed, crouched behind a great carved chair that 
alone had escaped overturning — huddled and leer- 
ing horribly. 

“ Did you that time, didn’t I ? Did you that time, 
didn’t I ? ” she began, repeating the phrase again 
and again, and ending at last in a flood of pro- 
fanity. 

Petty-Zou, white as milk, said calmly : “ Go 

away, Eleanor, and leave me to manage her.” 

Eleanor hesitated only a moment; Tudor was so 
near. But just as she opened the door, she was 
flung aside by powerful hands; and before she 
could move or utter a sound, the fat woman was 
bouncing down the stairs like a great ball. 

Petty-Zou was first on the landing, in time to 
hear the sharp barks with which the exit was oc- 
companied, turn into a sound as of suffocation, 
and to see the great mass hurl itself against some- 
thing dark that lifted above her grizzled head a 


238 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


broad rubicund face, child-like blue eyes, and a 
thin yellow beard against which two tusks of upper 
teeth were pressed. There was only one such man 
in Erasmus House; it was Tudor, helmetless, with 
muffin crumbs still attached to his mustache. He 
was gently but inexorably embracing the cause of 
the disturbance, just as she had plumped into him. 

There was opening of doors and babble of 
tongues, and Eleanor went down to explain; but 
Tudor gave her a prodigious wink that meant not 
only that he fully understood the state of affairs 
and was prepared to deal with it, but that her part 
was to go upstairs and look after the poor little 
victim. 

She found Petty-Zou clinging piteously to a red 
velvet slipper, a relic of the departed. 

“ Yes,” said Eleanor, unaware that she was 
speaking aloud. “ I remember when you bought 
them in The Marsh for two-and-elevenpence-ha’pen- 
ny, because she fancied them so much.” 

“ She ought to have this one too.” Petty-Zou 
made as if she were going to the door, but was 
held back firmly : “ My dear, she won’t need it ; 

she goes in a cab.” 

Thereupon Petty-Zou was even more for running 
after; but Eleanor held her down in the great 
carved chair : “ Remember we are all in the hands 

of the law. It’s no good. Oh, my dear, your 
pretty things ! What will you do ? ” 

Petty-Zou surveyed the wreck, her hands clasped 


THE RUINS OF ROME 


239 


about one knee. Both she and Eleanor noticed that 
she still held her little bunch of wallflowers. She 
spoke at last with deliberation : “ I shall search 

first among the debris for a vase for the posies, 
and then for my cigarettes. What does it remind 
you of, Eleanor? The ruins of Rome? ,, 

With her toe, she idly turned over a plaster frag- 
ment. Eleanor caught her breath, recognizing a 
piece of the green medallion; but Petty-Zou, after 
a wistful moment, said only : “ I do hope there’s 

a cigarette somewhere ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE COUNTESS WASHES HER HANDS 

The cigarettes were rescued from the Shell, the 
contents of a full box having been strewn bale fully 
about on the bed. 

Then Petty-Zou sat down cross-legged on the 
hearth of the living-room, and surveyed the situa- 
tion, while Eleanor put the gas right, and moved 
about wringing her hands and moaning over the 
losses. 

Petty-Zou said nothing until she had finished 
her cigarette ; then she laid the burning tip absently 
on her knee and when it had burnt a smart little 
hole, observed : “ That’s rather a pity. I haven’t 

too many frocks. However it’s done. Another, 
please.” Cigarette she meant, not frock. 

Eleanor, who had captured the box, refused; and 
so they squabbled together until they were inter- 
rupted by a sharp rapping at the door. 

“ Sounds like Lady Susan hoping to knock up 
her tea-set,” observed Petty-Zou, with a gleam of 
fun. “ She’s been here before.” 

She rose in leisurely fashion while Eleanor 
opened to admit the wide-spreading, rustling figure 
of the Countess of Savernake. 

240 


COUNTESS WASHES HER HANDS 241 


Eleanor shrank into the background, but Petty- 
Zou was not disconcerted : “ Good evening, Coun- 

tess/' she said cheerfully. “ Come in. I’ll try to 
find you a chair that you can sit on.” 

“ And what is the meaning of this?” demanded 
the visitor, in her most stately baritone, as she lifted 
her pince-nez to survey the wreckage. 

“ Wait a moment,” answered Petty-Zou. “ Elea- 
nor, where have you hidden the cigarettes? Ah, 
here they are. Will you? No? But perhaps you 
won’t mind if I continue. Good child ! ” — as 
Eleanor advanced the great arm-chair that had not 
been overturned. She herself lighted a second ci- 
garette, and took her place on the hearth-rug with 
an air as defiantly mannish as she could assume: 
“Now I am ready for questions.” But by this 
time the great lady, who had been looking about her, 
was past asking them. 

“ It wasn’t an earthquake,” said Petty-Zou, speak- 
ing slowly, “ though you might think so. It was 
— purely domestic.” 

“ Domestic ? ” was the amazed question. The 
Countess tried to find herself by going back a little 
way : “ I waj? calling at Lady Susan’s and she 

asked me to look in and inquire how the tea-set 
was getting on — ” 

“ Just so,” observed Petty-Zou calmly. “ I 
think I saw some of it, a minute ago. Ah, yes ” — 
she picked up a fragment about as large as a broken 
egg-shell. “ It’s gone pretty far, you see.” 


242 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


The poor lady could only stare and grunt. 

“ Yes, and that small object you are poking with 
your stick looks to me like a piece of your new 
Danae, and that — well, really, for the moment I 
cannot say what that is.” 

“ Have you gone mad ? ” murmured the Countess. 

“ Oh, no,” said Petty-Zou. “ It was only my 
charwoman. She has just left me.” 

“Your charwoman? And where did you pick 
her up, pray? ” 

Petty-Zou looked at her with amused eyes. She 
had completely forgotten, it was clear, her own con- 
nection with the case. Finally the laughter broke 
loose : “ Ah, Countess, you know my ways.” 

Lady Savernake began a little lecture, quite ob- 
livious of the presence of Eleanor, who was making 
distress signals to Petty-Zou, asking how she might 
get away. 

“ Don’t stop, Nell dear, unless you like,” said 
Petty-Zou, and Eleanor fled gladly. 

In the pause that followed, she continued : “ Pm 

afraid all this was written in the stars before the 
earth was made.” 

There came a second pause, during which she 
finished her second cigarette and meditated upon a 
third. 

“ I had another matter on my mind,” confessed 
the Countess. “ In fact, I — Wharton — ” 

“Ah?” Petty-Zou was suddenly watchful and 
laid down the cigarette that she had selected. 


COUNTESS WASHES HER HANDS 243 


The Countess opened and shut her mouth several 
times, like a fish out of water. She found the sit- 
uation more difficult than she anticipated. “ You 
knew my hopes for Wharton ? ” she concluded des- 
perately. 

“ Ah, yes,” said Petty-Zou gently. “ I share 
them.” 

“ You mean — ? ” The Countess stiffened. 

“ Are you alluding to his possible marriage with 
some young woman of good family? I have done 
my best to dispose him to it.” 

At first the Countess gaped, then she accumu- 
lated resentment. However, she bridled her tongue, 
thinking that Petty-Zou would say more; but the 
latter asked only: “ What next? ” 

In her longing to be reassured, the Countess 
mumbled : “ Then you yourself have no intention 

of—?” 

“ Of eloping with him? It is not often done at 
our age,” said Petty-Zou, calmly flippant. 

“ I never have the feeling that you are a really 
responsible person,” the Countess confessed bluntly. 

“ Thank you ” — Petty-Zou’s chin rose. 

“ So there’s no truth in it ? ” 

“In what?” 

“ That he has — ” 

“ Proposed to me ? That is true. That I have 
accepted him — no.” 

“You have bewitched the man!” groaned Lady 
Savernake; and, in her own mind, studying the 


244 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


quaint, pretty little figure on the rug, and remem- 
bering the odd streak in Wharton’s character that 
made him always walk a little out of the family line, 
she confessed that she was not surprised. 

“ Not at all,” said Petty-Zou seriously. “ But I 
am bound to confess one thing. This charwoman 
of mine went off her head occasionally — had tan- 
trums, as we say in the House — and it was she 
who bit his hand. That’s the worst I’ve done to 
him.” 

“ Then that tale about the dog — ? ” 

“Was a fib. And not well done. You should 
train him to fib better. But I should have spoken 
out at the time — only I was a coward.” 

The Countess was ruminating: “ Refused him? 
Impossible ! ” 

“Is it? Well, I did. I often do impossible 
things.” 

Relieved of the immediate issue, the Countess 
strove to mollify: “We have been friends so 
long—” 

“ That you cannot understand how he came to 
ask me ? ” said Petty-Zou quizzically, her hands in 
her pockets. “ I thought it a little odd myself. 
There’s no madness in your family perhaps ? ” 

“ I hope I have no false pride — ” began the vis- 
itor, more at sea than before. 

“ My dear Countess,” said Petty-Zou firmly, 
“have you never heard of middle-class pride? 
You may feel quite safe. I should not dream of 


COUNTESS WASHES HER HANDS 245 


changing my mind for any importunity of his. Per- 
haps if you deigned to plead yourself ” — she ended 
with a gay laugh, hummed a bar of “ Mon pere m’a 
donne un mari,” and took up the rejected cigar- 
ette. 

“I can understand his being fond of you; I am 
fond of you ” — the Countess pressed the distinc- 
tion. 

“ Really? ” The flicker of the match, revealed a 
delicate grimace in one corner of Petty-Zou’s 
mouth. 

“ But I am glad you have the sense to recognize 
the utter unsuitability of such a match.” 

“ My judgment agrees with yours. But I feel 
bound to say ” — Petty-Zou paused for effect, and 
removed her cigarette from her lips, studying it 
closely, as if something were amiss with the flavour 
— “ that I pleased myself in the matter. I should 
have accepted him if I had liked. And I would sug- 
gest, Lady Savernake, whether you came for the 
purpose or not, that now is the time for you to wash 
your hands of me. You can do it gracefully.” 

“ What ? What ? What ? ” stammered the 

Countess, reddening. 

“ I need make no apology ” — she waved her free 
hand airily about the room — “ for saying that I am 
going to be busy. Good night, Lady Savernake.” 

The Countess arose, with pursed lips and pince- 
nez well aimed: “ I fail to understand you? ” 

“ Why, it's clear enough ” — Petty-Zou laughed 


246 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


again. “ I mean only that as far as you are con- 
cerned — and — and Lord Wharton — your hands 
are as spotless as before you knew me. It is the 
end of the end,” she concluded musingly, looking 
into the fire. 

The Countess moved rustling towards the door, 
her forgotten skirt beating up a little dust of plas- 
ter. 

Once she hesitated : “ It is too bad to leave 

you in this state — ” 

“ Not at all,” said Petty-Zou sweetly, her third 
cigarette now in the fire, her hands in her pockets 
(her habitual attitude in a pinafore). “ I am used 
to muddles. I live in a muddle. I should feel 
lonely without one. Besides, I have your sympathy 
to support me.” 

The Countess was so doubtful how this was to 
be taken that she only looked askance and grunted : 
“ When you come to your senses — ” 

“ You will see me again? Thanks, but I’m 
hopelessly out of them. Good night, Lady Saver- 
nake.” 

She curtsied ironically, to avoid seeing the offer 
of a hand, if it should be made; and the puzzled 
Countess was fairly routed down the stairs. 

Then first she looked about to see if her little 
Magic Mirror had escaped destruction; and finding 
it safe in its nook behind the door, winked away 
a tear or two of uncertain import, and said to the 
wry little image of Sidonia that confronted her: 


COUNTESS WASHES HER HANDS 247 


“ You silly little beggar, will you be quiet? We 
shall do very well together, just you and I alone.” 
Then she grew savage at her own words : “ No, 

not alone, with all the street our friends, as much 
as ever we like ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


Eleanor Lane must have heard the descending 
steps of the Countess, for she flew upstairs at 
once, ostensibly to make some attempt at ordering 
the room. But Petty-Zou, calm again, waved her 
away with her fourth cigarette, which she was on 
the point of lighting. Then Eleanor implored that 
they might retreat to her own room for a confer- 
ence, Larry being at the theatre, alas! 

“ Go away ! ” says Petty-Zou. “ I must smoke 
till things are settled in my mind.” 

Eleanor retreated very sadly, not daring to press 
an offer of her twenty pounds. On her own land- 
ing she met Tudor ascending with all dignity. 

He looked pleased to see her. “ You’re the very 
one, miss,” he said. And after a temporary qualm 
that she might have offended somehow the majesty 
of the law, she invited him in. 

“ It’s this way, miss,” said he. “ We was all 
ready to act to-morrow. I was sent for to the 
country by — without mentioning no names. 
After some discussion it were decided that a com- 
fortable ’ome could be provided, all found, for that 
248 


“ POUFF ” 


249 


— person. We found the ’ome — I take no credit 
to myself. The first payment were made in ad- 
vance. It were left for me to get the person away, 
which I was about to undertake to-morrow, seem’ 
as a man can’t be expected to do more than one 
thing at a time. Likewise, she had been discharged, 
and so might be considered safe, in a way of speak- 
ing. But my meaning is, that I stopped on the way 
back to fetch my wife’s sister, Rosa Gunglewick, 
which the old woman as she were a-nursin’ of 
wouldn’t die, and the authorities was prepared to 
take her on, only a trained nurse was telegraphed 
for by — we’re mentioning no names” — Tudor 
paused for breath. “ There it is. I’ve come as 
quick as I could, and Rosa’s below eatin’ of kip- 
pers. Which do you think it might be well to send 
her up direct? Barker’s done for and that’s a 
fact.” 

When Eleanor had gathered the significance of 
this extraordinary speech which taxed Tudor’s elo- 
quence to the utmost, and had asked a few ques- 
tions to elucidate further the state of the case, she 
gave hearty and unqualified assent to the conspiracy ; 
and Tudor departed, observing that the breakage 
was bad enough, but not to be mentioned in the 
same breath with Miss Petty-Zou’s head. 

Hence, that little person, smoking and settling her 
mind, had almost concluded to step down and talk 
things over with Eleanor, when she was disturbed 
by a rap at her door — a firm, solid knuckle-beat 


250 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


so like Tudor’s that she was tempted not to an- 
swer. However, desolation was growing upon her 
as she studied the details of her room — and I think 
she may have had Mrs. Barker still on her mind. 
The lost red velvet slipper made a bright spot of 
colour on the Shell. She admitted — even stepped 
back before — a ruddy-cheeked, almost square 
young woman, whose face seemed vaguely familiar. 

This person walked in with easy assurance, sur- 
veyed the room, and clasped her plump red hands 
together : “ O Gussie ! ” 

“ What do you want ? ” asked Petty-Zou. 

“ I ? Nothin’, miss. It’s this room as wants 
doin’, I say, and wants it bad ! ” She was on her 
knees collecting fragments before Petty-Zou could 
move or utter a protest. 

No sooner down, it seemed, than she was up 
again, taking each overturned chair by the scruff 
of its neck, so to speak, and shaking it into its 
place as if it had been a naughty child. “ Up you 
go, John ! ” addressed to an arm-chair not too 
ponderous to have been overthrown, favoured the 
illusion. 

Petty-Zou made one or two small attempts to at- 
tract her attention; but she was wholly occupied 
with the furniture. She was speedily at the books, 
setting them back on the empty shelves, with a run- 
ning fire of comment that brooked no interruption. 
Petty-Zou resigned herself to kneeling on a chair 
(happily righted), her elbows on its back and her 


“ POUFF ” 251 

face in her palms, watching each book fly into its 
place. 

“ Tut, tut,” said the invador to Byron , “ what 
do you mean by going on a tear like that ? ” 
Shakespeare she informed that he would need a sur- 
geon to mend his back; Milton, that his looks was 
a disgrace and cried aloud for a brush; Dante , that 
he was whitewashed sure enough; Mrs. Browning , 
that there wasn’t enough of her left for curl-papers; 
Petrarch, that he would just about do for lighting 
fires, and Goethe, rescued from under the frag- 
ments of a tea-cup that had once held tea, that he 
was a fair old soak, he was. 

Notwithstanding these severe remarks, she soon 
had them in military row on the shelves — a few 
of them standing inadvertently on their heads. 

“ Now,” said Petty-Zou, anticipating a lull, 
“ will you kindly tell me who you are and what 
you mean ? ” 

“ Rosa Gunglewick, miss,” answered the damsel. 
“ My goodness, where’s a basket for the pieces ? 
We may as well fill the kettle, if I can find the tap. 
Here you go, John — whatever makes your lid 
stick? I’m meanin’ to put you to rights, mum, be- 
fore I close an eye this night.” 

“ Well ” — Petty-Zou’s voice was chilly — “ un- 
less you explain yourself, I shall consider that 
you’re taking a liberty — ” 

“ A what, mum?” The invader deigned a mo- 
ment’s attention. “ Oh, a liberty. Well, mum, 


252 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


begging your pardon for the liberty, it’s the only 
thing I see in the room as is worth taking now.” 

“ I think you had better go,” said Petty-Zou 
gently. 

The answer was alarming: “ Hi, John, down 
you come ” — to a Shetland creel on the wall. 
“ You’re a rummy old thing but you’ll do ! ” She 
turned pointedly to the wrathful little lady on the 
chair : “ Don’t you worry about me, mum. I’ll 

shake you to order in a jiffy.” 

Petty-Zou eyed the young woman’s muscles and 
decided that ejection by force would not answer. 
She lit her cigarette, extinguished in the middle, 
and resigned herself again to watch proceedings 
from a chair. Once as she blew the smoke away, 
with a soft little murmur that I can spell no better 
than pou-ff, the fragment-collector looked up from 
an endeavour to fit two pieces of china together. 

“ Did you address me, mum ? ” said she. “ What, 
smoking? I never knew ladies smoked. They 
don’t in my part of the country. It always makes 
me cough” — she illustrated her assertion. 

“ Pouff” said Petty-Zou again, very gently. 

The young woman barked more loudly. 

“ If it makes you cough,” said Petty-Zou politely, 
“why don’t you go away?” She had a dim sus- 
picion that the tussis which followed was exag- 
gerated ; but the words struggled out at last : “ I 

always sticks to my duty, mum, till it’s done, smoke 
or no smoke.” 


" POUFF ” 253 

“ Yes,” said Petty-Zou, still polite, “ but this 
doesn’t happen to be your duty.” 

Rosa Gunglewick gave her a clear-eyed gaze; 
and stooped to her work, with the simple answer: 
“ We can sort them over when we’ve finished, mum; 
they’re not all past mending.” 

After another silence, Petty-Zou asked : “ Where 
do you live ? ” 

“ Here, miss,” was the polite answer. “ I’ve 
just come. I’m Tudor’s sister-in-law.” 

Then Petty-Zou accounted for the familiarity of 
her face, and remembering her share in the Christ- 
mas hamper, felt a few coals of fire tingling. 

“ They haven’t room for you,” she remarked. 
“ It would be against the rules for overcrowding.” 

“ Oh, I sha’n’t stop there, mum,” was the mys- 
tifying answer. 

“ Pou-ff,” said Petty-Zou for a third time, when 
she had striven vainly to crack this nut. ‘‘You’d 
better go down to your brother-in-law.” 

“ But, with respects, mum, you said as there 
wasn’t no room for me there,” answered the girl; 
and adding her desire for a broom, she departed 
into the scullery. 

“ Then what do you propose to do ? ” asked 
Petty-Zou, with fear in her eyes. 

The answer was a swish and a rising cloud of 
dust, together with the observation : “ You don’t 

seem to have no tea-leaves, miss, or it would be 
less unpleasant.” 


254 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“Will you go?” asked Petty-Zou, summoning 
all her dignity. 

“ If I might venture to suggest, miss, it would 
be better if you went yourself till I’ve got things a 
bit straight.” 

And Petty-Zou to her own amazement found her- 
self moving to the door. She said that she would 
go down to Tudor and demand that he fetch away 
this insolent piece. 

She was followed down the stairs by an increased 
swish and a song of triumph, not an echo of Day of 
Wrath , but : “ There — is — a — hap — py land — ” 

Breathless, at Tudor’s door, Petty-Zou was in- 
formed that the constable had departed on night 
duty; and that mother had gone out to buy tripe 
and onions for supper. Rose-Mary, who volun- 
teered the information, was endeavouring, under 
strong protest, to rock Charles-Augustus asleep. 
The twins were abroad. With the message that 
mother would please- come up to Miss Eleanor’s 
room the moment she returned, Petty-Zou swal- 
lowed her pride and turned to that good friend for 
help. 

“ Yes, but why are you so anxious to be rid of 
her?” she answered Petty-Zou’s first lament. 
“ You admit that she seems a nice, clean, capable 
girl . . .” 

“ Capable ! ” groaned Petty-Zou. 

“ Tudor told me,” confessed Eleanor heedlessly, 
“ that she was a ‘ ripper ; ’ he said nothing short of 


“ POUFF ” 


'255 


‘ ripper ’ would describe her. And Fm sure there 
isn’t the slightest doubt that you need a ripper to 
keep you in order ! ” 

But Petty-Zou had not met this argument be- 
fore Mrs. Tudor filled the door, so palpably a 
larger edition of Rosa Gunglewick that Petty-Zou 
wondered how she could ever have been at a loss to 
identify that young person. 

“ Might I offer either of you two ladies a nice 
dish of tripe and onions? ” was her polite address. 
“ When it’s cooked? ” 

Attacked on the subject of Rosa Gunglewick, she 
was prompt to admit the relationship, but had her 
own grievance to air : “ What she come up for 

just now, it passes me to understand, my dears. 
The Lord ’e knows and Tudor. So secret a man 
never was. I arsk ’im questions, ’e winks an’ ’e 
coughs an’ ’e puts me off (Rosa’s h’s were in a far 
better state of preservation than her Londonized 
sister’s) — ’e puts me off, ’is own missus, a-slappin’ 
of ’is chest an’ larfin’ like to choke — Rosa too, so 
that she stuck a kipper bone in her throat. I near 
died between the two o’ them — not to speak o’ 
losin’ my temper. But when you carn’t move ’im, 
you carn’t — that’s my experience. He says : 
* There might be good reasons for it — I don’t say 
as there is ’ — and off they goes a-larfin’. Fm a 
patient woman, but I looked at the end of my nose a 
minute an’ says I, ‘ Fm the last in the world to know 
what ain’t — in a manner of speaking — my busi- 


256 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


ness.’ ‘ Well,’ says ’e, interruptin’ of me sudden- 
like, ‘ there's some things you don’t know, missus, 
an’ never will ’ ” — she paused with her hand on her 
side. 

From above came strains of, “ Far — far — 
away.” 

Petty-Zou’s face said plainly enough that she was 
not a patient woman; and Mrs. Tudor, perceiving 
some agitation, tried to get herself to the door ; but 
at that point she lingered so that Petty-Zou made 
excuses and departed, feeling that she must man- 
age the case herself. 

Mrs. Tudor paused for a last word with Eleanor: 
“ As I live, miss, it’s true ; but there’s a little more, 
which maybe you might know. He’s always a-get- 
tin’ letters now or telegrams and such; and when 
I says who from, ’e’s at me with ‘ Anybody you 
might like to think of. I’ve ’ad instructions to 
keep my h’eyes peeled, that’s all. And I never be- 
trays no confidences put in me, wotever.’ As to my- 
self, Miss Eleanor, I ain’t took to readin’ of ’is let- 
ters yet , though the Lord knows if ’e pushes it too 
far . . . Leastways, I ain’t jealous. I knows 

by the look of the letters . . . And bein’ al- 

lowed to suppose, which it is the liberty of the sub- 
ject though female — and I don’t ’old by women’s 
suffrage neither, for what good would that do the 
country, you tell me . . .” 

"You suppose?” prompted Eleanor. 

“ I suppose it’s got something to do with Miss 


“ POUFF ” 


257 


Petty-Zou, Lord bless ’er — she deserves what she 
may get, always provided it's good. But mark my 
words. . . 

“ And that’s all you do Know ? ” 

“ Tudor says to me: ‘Whenever you find out 
anythink, missus, wot it don’t concern you to 
know, I’ll show you ’ — an’ ’e’s a tidy man at ’ittin’ 
stright, when so be ’e’s inclined. An’ ’e says: 
‘There’s some people as can keep things dark when 
called upon; an’ by the look o’ you, missus, you’re 
one o’ them 3 . . . But I needn’t trouble you, 

miss, with ’is remarks, which, wotever ’e says 
’e’ll make it good. So ‘ Lie low,’ that’s my motto. 
Sure you wouldn’t relish no tripe, miss? Good 
night — oh, welcome, I’m sure . . 

Eleanor fled before a torrent of words, thinking: 
“ Foolish little Petty-Zou! She doesn’t deserve all 
that loving care — but which of us does?” She 
remembered Larry and was humble. 

Petty-Zou looked as if she had just delivered her- 
self of an oration equal to Mrs. Tudor’s in length 
but more eloquent. Rosa Gunglewick stood 
smoothing her neat white apron, in a room bare, it 
is true, but restored to some degree of order. Elea- 
nor had time to notice that a small table appeared 
to be spread with food, before the girl made her 
reply. It was sufficiently neat : “ Your supper is 

quite ready, mum; I laid the table for two.” She 
whisked out of sight and shut the scullery door, 
without waiting for comment. 


258 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


Petty-Zou and Eleanor looked at each other, 
and broke into silent laughter. 

“ She’s hopeless,” said Petty-Zou. 

And “ I’m hungry. Shall we eat ? ” came from 
Eleanor. 

In the general disarray of drawers and boxes 
— for Mrs. Barker had been thorough in her 
methods — the young woman had found and made 
use of an embroidered linen square, by way of 
cloth, and she had established the wallflowers as 
centrepiece. She seemed to know that Petty-Zou 
had had no tea, and had made this a combination 
meal. She had opened a tin of salmon and made 
little sandwiches ; she had spread a few biscuits with 
apricot jam, and as the butter was limited, she had 
concocted the dripping-toast that stood on the hob 
together with the pot of tea. 

“ Oh, pouff — pouff — POUFF, why don’t you 
go away?” Petty-Zou had complained, as if a des- 
perate effort might banish the solid young form be- 
fore her as easily as if it had been a wreath of 
smoke. 

“ I don’t mind what you calls me,” she had an- 
swered, “ if only you sits down before the tea’s 
drawed too much.” This had passed just before 
Eleanor came in. 

As soon as the feast was concluded, the police- 
man’s sister-in-law entered with diverse bits of 
broken china : “ There’s some worth mending and 

some not; but if you like to buy a tube of sticky 


“ POUFF ” 


259 


stuff, I’ll do you up anything in the house from a 
piano to a parasol.” 

“ You’re a cock-sure young woman,” began Pet- 
ty-Zou reprovingly; and stared at the next remark, 
“ Hi, there, old boy — slow up, John ! ” until she 
perceived that it was addressed not to herself but 
to the kettle boiling over, at which the speaker 
made a sudden dive. 

There was a momentary lull while the hot water 
was poured over the dishes; then Rosa came back 
carrying a plate strewn with fragments : “ I thought 
these might be preciouser than the other things, 
miss.” 

Alas ! they were little gods — those which had 
been saved from the hand of the pawnbroker — 
pathetic shreds of ivory, twisted bronze and splin- 
tered wood. 

Petty-Zou’s hand went to her heart and she gave 
a quick little gasp ; then she smiled through climb- 
ing tears : “ I’m so glad the others are still packed 

away. Something is saved . . .” 

But Rosa was so eager in her protestations of 
ability to mend these treasures, and so hearty in 
her admiration and her pity, that Petty-Zou re- 
lented towards her from that moment. 

“ You’ve done enough,” she said presently. 
“ You’ve done enough. You shall be paid to-mor- 
row.” 

Rosa stared and went fire-red, speaking with de- 
termination ; “ I know wdiat’s due to you better 


26 o the BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


than that, mum. It ain’t for nothing that my 
brother-in-law — he said how pretty you was and 
how helpless-like . . 

“ Helpless ! ” 

“ — and how you didn’t want nothing but to be 
pampered, as some might say . . 

“ Have you ever heard of Dr. Johnson?” Eleanor 
interrupted her eloquence. 

“ Yes’m,” was the prompt answer. “ He were 
called when I was born . . . I’ve heard moth- 

er say he was the Tundridge doctor then.” 

“ Samuel?” 

“ No, William.” 

“ Ah, Samuel was not a disciple of iEsculapius,” 
continued Eleanor naughtily. 

“ ‘ Disciple of ^Esculapius! ’ ” Rosa’s lips mum- 
bled over the phrase several times as if she were 
storing it up for future use, as indeed she was. 
“ I take it that’s one way of saying doctor , miss? ” 
She turned sharply upon Petty-Zou : “ Would you 

fancy a bit of boiled haddock for your breakast, 
mum ? ” 

“No — oh, do go away — pou-ff — pouff — - 
pouff ! ” cried Petty-Zou in despair. 

“ You may call me Pouif if you’ve a mind to, 
miss, though it ain’t my proper name and has a 
heathen sound at that; but that don’t make no dif- 
ference. I wasn’t meaning dried haddock, miss, 
-which I’m sure ain’t as nice as some other kinds 
- — cod, for example 1 I meant a snack o’ fresh had- 


“ POUFF 


261 

dock, which I’d better run out and get this minute 
before the shops close. Unless you’d like a bloater 
what my brother-in-law, he calls a ‘two-eyed 
steak ’ ? ” 

“Will nothing take her away?” began Petty- 
Zou; but her faint whisper was drowned in the full 
tone : “ I generally does it up with white sauce 

and a pinch o’ mustard. Dad, he says nobody 
can’t cook haddock like me.” She showed two 
rows of gums in a coaxing smile. 

Petty-Zou made a last stand : “ You say you don’t 
like smoke — well, you’ll — you’ll be kippered if 
you stay here with me ! ” 

But the girl was afflicted with sudden deafness: 
“ Did you say tea or coffee, mum? ” 

“ Kuk — kuk — coffee ” — Petty-Zou was almost 
hysterical as she succumbed. “ I want a — another 
cigarette.” 

Rosa Gunglewick looked at Eleanor : “ Knowing 
my place, mum — and how many does that make ? 
Hadn’t she better be got to bed, if you please, mum? 
And I’ll sleep below to-night and have the 
breakfast ready by eight o’clock. Does that 
suit?” 

Eleanor was past everything but a feeble nod; 
and the girl disappeared. 

“ She seems to have engaged herself,” observed 
Eleanor. 

And Petty-Zou appealed: “ Can I lock her out? ” 

“ She’d come up the fire-escape,” began Eleanor, 


262 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


and observed the door slowly open again. It could 
never have been fully shut. 

“ Beg pardon, mum — I didn’t hear nothin’ you 
was say in’. I just remembered I hadn’t asked you 
if you’d like a hot bottle? ” 

“ Oh pouff — pouff — pouff ! ” says Petty-Zou, 
in an agony of vexation, waving all her ten fingers 
at the persistent one. 

“ Very well, mum, it’s as you like. Let it be 
Pouff . I don’t mind what I go by. If you don’t 
want the bottle, good night, mum.” 

“ Eleanor,” said Petty-Zou, “ what is it about 
me that makes me a mere reed in the hands of 
anybody that happens along ? ” 


CHAPTER XXX 


" THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH ” 

If Bumpus and Mrs. Barker could scarcely have 
been looked upon as unqualified successes, under 
the self-imposed dominion of the young woman so 
oddly dubbed Pouff, Petty-Zou’s household made 
alarming strides towards a scientific and even con- 
ventional basis. 

The morning after her invasion, the poor little 
mistress had to submit to hot water at half-past 
seven and breakfast at eight o’clock. And if you 
ask why she did not bar the door against the in- 
trusive young person, I may assure you that she did, 
and that Pouff secured entrance under cover of a 
persistent rattling of the letter-box which seemed 
to promise nothing less than registered mail contain- 
ing limitless wealth. Petty-Zou opened, protected 
by the paroquet kimono ; and before she could close, 
Pouff had possession of the fireplace and the sit- 
uation. 

Between the haddock and the marmalade, Petty- 
Zou was informed that her new maid had fixed for 
herself the wage of eight pounds a year to begin 
upon, subject to a rise when convenient, if she gave 
satisfaction. 


263 


26 4 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


As soon as she could escape, Petty-Zou fled to 
Eleanor for counsel. And it was, “ Ought I to 
take her on? Or have I taken her on? And what 
shall I do about it ? ” 

“ My dear,” said Eleanor sensibly, “ she has 
taken you on. Submit as tactfully as you can. 
Tudor is behind her, you know. We shall see what 
comes of it.” 

Well, they did see — all Erasmus House saw 
and commented. After some years of rising when 
she pleased, working when in the mood, eating when 
she had time, and walking when occasion called, 
Petty-Zou became the victim of regular habits. She 
could not have told how it was brought about, in- 
asmuch as she resented the slightest hint of domina- 
tion on the part of the new domestic. The worst 
of it was, that PoufY never presumed, never insisted, 
and rarely so much as suggested, in plain under- 
standable speech. Somehow it was borne in upon 
Petty-Zou, with the arrival of the hot water at the 
mouth of the Shell, that unless she speedily emerged, 
breakfast would descend upon her; and she hated 
breakfast in bed, both for the indignity of it and 
because it hinted at a beginning of the process of 
“ pampering,” with which she had been threatened 
on Pouff’s initial night. 

At nine o’clock, if she still lingered over her 
coffee or letters, Pouff, who would have been mak- 
ing a great stir-about in the workroom, would 
appear in the door, with the air of a soldier on 


“ THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH ” 265 


parade, and announce : “ Your apartment is now 
quite at your disposal, mum.” 

This was the signal for a definite banishment. 
The door was closed with a firm twist of the handle 
that offered no hope of egress; Petty-Zou was a 
prisoner for the morning, and if she so much as 
ventured to show the tip of her nose outside, or to 
ask the most innocent of questions, she met with so 
chilly a reception that she was glad to retreat. 

At first, indeed, she had tried her wits in the 
invention of all manner of excuses for postponing 
the hateful moment of making a beginning; but 
moods had no more effect upon Pouff than upon a 
stone wall. With an innocent, old-fashioned air, she 
gently abstracted the very ground from under Petty- 
Zou’s feet. This sentence must be taken literally : 
whichever chair the little mistress happened to be 
sitting upon, urgently required dusting or polish; 
if she perched upon the window-seat, a violent 
draught was the order of the day; if she took a 
lowly position on the hearth-rug, that article de- 
manded instantaneous shaking; if she had descended 
even to the bare floor, that would have been put 
through a process of washing; if out of sheer 
obstinacy she had stayed on, pacing, worrying over 
a certain matter that was much in her mind, the 
coal-box would have been retired and the fire would 
have sunk to extinction, pending an unseasonable 
and hitherto neglected cleaning of grate or even of 
chimney. 


266 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


They said throughout the House that Rosa Gun- 
glewick were an impudent piece, that she were, 
but the way she did for Miss Petty-Zou were some- 
think wonderful. 

Mrs. Tudor, questioned about her young sister’s 
antecedents, observed only that Rosa were a born 
manager as could be seen with half an eye; and that 
the prime reason for her leaving home was, her 
own mother grew so fat with sitting by the fire 
and crocheting, that she herself was afraid she 
couldn’t be carried through the door on the day of 
her funeral, unless she took to stirring about a 
little. 

Once only, in the course of the morning, was 
Petty-Zou disturbed. At eleven o’clock regularly, 
Pouff entered with hot milk or beef-tea and bis- 
cuits. If Petty-Zou had worked well, she was 
made to feel serenely conscious of her own virtue; 
if she had sat idle and sorrowful, as often happened 
these days, and as would be betrayed by her un- 
smudged appearance, she experienced again the sen- 
sations of a naughty child. 

At twelve-thirty, a bell rang imperatively for 
lunch; at one o’clock Petty-Zou found her walking- 
shoes polished on the hearth, and her hat and cape 
well-brushed on a convenient chair. It seemed to 
be understood that she would know what to do with 
them. 

She was often surprised at her own destination. 
Sometimes she trotted up and down the Embank- 


“THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH ” 267 


ment, with the idea somehow implanted in her 
mind that she needed sea-air to bring the colour 
into her cheeks. Again, it would be the Park, 
because Pip had heard there were pelicans, and 
desired to make acquaintance with these fascinat- 
ing creatures. 

In the old days, Petty-Zou had not needed sug- 
gestions for amusement ; when she went out, it was 
usually in quest of this. She was familiar among 
the gossips of Thistle Street and Hope Lane; she 
had even been spied by the sagacious eye of Tudor 
himself, in the very act of cake-walking with a 
dozen small children, while the Italian organ-man 
ground out an unsteady tune that seemed to shake 
with his own laughter. 

But now she was a little pale and distrait, not 
bubbling with ideas. It was with but a lagging 
step and a patient ear that she one day carried out 
Pouff’s suggestion of conducting old Seascale to 
South Kensington, that he might have the joy of 
remembering the superiority of the British Museum. 
She herself proposed, another day, taking a “ raft 
of kiddies ” to the Zoo, as in the old, happy times, 
but with so little spirit that Pouff felt impelled to 
marshal the party and keep it in order. 

It was to Pip chiefly that Petty-Zou turned in her 
distress of mind; and that quiet child had many 
hours of bliss, without distracting unduly the 
thoughts of his companion. She would go in and 
out through the Horse Guards as many times as 


268 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


he liked, that he might admire the beautiful red and 
gold, or blue and white soldiers; she took him on 
the top of a yellow tram all the way to Hampstead 
Heath, and together they sailed a boat, or watched 
dogs swimming for sticks in Highgate Ponds, or 
told stories under the flowering blackthorn. They 
flattened noses together at many toy shops, and 
sometimes they went in and bought wonderful 
things for birthdays and other treats; they fed 
most of the pigeons in London, from the British 
Museum to the Guildhall; they sometimes sat still 
a while in musty old churches, where there was 
neither light nor the roar of the streets; they 
watched the rooks building in Gray’s Inn; they sat 
on a bench in the Temple Gardens and fed the gold 
fish under the fountain spray; for Pip’s education 
they even climbed up the Monument that is crowned 
with golden fire, up and up till Pip’s legs ached so 
that he feared they might drop off, and still he 
manfully refused to be carried a step; they 
whispered in the great gallery at St. Paul’s; and 
they often retreated to the cloisters of the Abbey, 
though Pip longed with all his soul to be on the 
sunny sward within, gathering daisies. And some- 
times they followed Punch or the hurdy-gurdy- 
man. As surely as tea-time came and they 
wandered home again along the river under the 
trees of the Embankment, or across the Park, or 
over the narrow footpath of Lambeth Bridge, Pouff 
was always ready for them, with a smile that 


“ THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH ” 269 


crinkled all over her face, and toasted crumpets 
on the hearth. 

After this daily expedition, whatever its pretext, 
Petty-Zou was left in peace for the evening. She 
knew intuitively that she was not expected to work ; 
and she tried to be as comfortable as Pouff made 
her look, in the biggest arm-chair, with cushions 
and a book before the fire; and she knew very well, 
for all that she was being made to play games, 
that she would have been happier now than she ever 
had been since she was cast alone upon the mercies 
of the world, but for the fear of hydrophobia that 
Eleanor’s malicious word, soon forgotten by her- 
self, had set sawing in her heart, in most of her 
idle moments. Pouff had no clue as to why she 
was always fretful if interrupted in her hasty scan- 
ning of each morning’s head-lines; and she had 
many theories to explain the shaking of the little 
mistress’s hand when the evening sheet lay still 
folded on her table. Pouff felt keenly the two 
crises of the day ; but although she herself read the 
papers with much diligence, and gave time to spec- 
ulating on the subject, she could not satisfy herself 
that she knew what Petty-Zou dreaded to find, 
or that she in any way alleviated the bi-diurnal 
strain. 

In all other respects, she was accounted a suc- 
cess even by a somewhat jealous House. It was 
admitted, though not without contention, that she 
could get more good out of a “ farden’s worth o’ 


270 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


desecrated soup than most people out of two 
penn’orth of bones.” It was granted, without con- 
tention, that she knew her potato in its skin and 
out, and that her dealings with apples were un- 
common tasty; also that when once she had fallen 
in with her mistress’s views of a slab of cheese as 
a kind of general provision stores, she could do 
things with it that made the hair stand on end to 
think of. “ A slice of bacon,” Mrs. Tudor allowed 
herself to say once in a rare moment of sisterly 
pride, “ is as much the backbone of a dinner to 
our Rosa as a Sunday joint is to most — she’s that 
contriving ! ” 

The story went abroad how she came to do all 
the shopping. Once only, after her arrival, Petty- 
Zou came home with a bulging string-bag. In 
silence, Pouff took it from her and gave a hasty 
glance at its contents; then she said with extreme 
politeness : “ Might I venture to ask, mum, how 
much you give for the lot ? ” And when Petty- 
Zou faltered out the sum, she added with infinite 
indulgence : “ Perhaps, mum, you wouldn’t object 
to my undertaking the purchases in future ? ” 

Close upon this followed the surrender of the 
purse-strings altogether into Poufif’s capable and 
willing hands. Every Saturday, however, she was 
pleased to render her account, because, in her own 
phrasing, she did not “ wish to incur the suspicion 
of plundering.” Petty-Zou, pencil in hand, had to 
struggle up and down the soldierly columns, in order 


“ THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH ” 271 


to be able to say that she perceived the balance to 
be on the right side. Pouff usually had to point 
out to the mistress various small household lux- 
uries, ranging from cayenne pepper to a mincing- 
machine, that, in Petty-Zou’s way of putting it, she 
had squeezed out of the vegetable parings — so 
keen was her economy. 

It was Eleanor Lane alone who understood the 
full meaning of Pouff’s whole-souled devotion. 
Petty-Zou, it seemed, was the living embodiment 
of all the romance bottled up in the country girl’s 
nature through nearly twenty years of farm-life. 

“ It were always my dream,” she confided to 
Eleanor, “ to do for someone who were an artist- 
like.” The simple underlying fact to which Elea- 
nor had the clue, was that she herself possessed a 
grain — a vein of the artistic temperament buried 
almost beyond recovery, but with enough life in 
it to enable her to act the part of the critic who 
coaxes and wheedles and scolds and reviles and 
drags and pushes erratic genius into the pathway 
of success. Feeling as she did keenly both the 
delights and the dangers of the profession, she was 
able to realize the one and guard against the other. 
In a word, by her good management, she was just 
bringing Petty-Zou into a well-regulated way of 
life when disaster climbed over the horizon and sat 
down on the door-step. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE POLICEMAN SETTLES A DIFFERENCE 
OF OPINION 

The trouble was that the funds suddenly gave 
out. Pouff, on her way to buy-in the week’s stores, 
suddenly discovered that the cash-box was empty. 

“ There was thirty shillings still last week,” she 
said, with a troubled look, “ when you borrowed 
the key, mum. You said you wanted ten for some 
new clay and wax and things.” 

“ Yes, of course,” said Petty-Zou. “ And then 
I remembered that somebody had asked me for a 
subscription to something or other — I forget what, 
but it was very worthy. So I took the pound also. 
Are you sure there isn’t a sovereign or a shilling or 
something caught in a crack? No? Then it’s all 
I have until a cheque comes in.” 

“ Some money is owing to you, mum ? ” says 
Pouff, very grave. 

“ Pounds and pounds. Most people pay very 
slowly for their art. If I hadn’t had that smash-up 
a little while ago — ” By this time she had adopted 
the catastrophe as entirely her own. 

“ If the money is due,” said Pouff, “ we must 
get it.” 


A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 273 


“ How ? ” Petty-Zou wished to know. 

“ By asking, mum.” 

“ I tried that at Christmas,” said Petty-Zou, 
“ begging from door to door. Never again. I’ll 
starve first.” 

“ The alternative,” says Pouff impressively, “ is 
to send me, mum. I won’t come back with empty 
hands.” She would have been quite capable of a 
descent upon Portland Place, or Buckingham 
Palace, for that matter, string-bag and all ; and she 
would have brought home returns and provided 
the payers with a year’s laughing at the figure she 
presented in one of Petty-Zou’s cast-off capes and 
a hat curiously compounded out of elements de- 
rived from a whole group of hats at war with one 
another. 

But Petty-Zou’s pride stood in the way : “ The 
scheme is absolutely impracticable.” And Pouff 
was so busy storing away the two new words that 
she forgot to pursue the argument. 

“ It will have to be the Three Balls again,” sighed 
Petty-Zou, forgetting that she had spoken aloud. 

Pouff understood very well: “If that’s the way 
of it, mum, I’ll do what I can for you. I once 
had an acquaintance who was clerk for one in 
Tundridge, and I know the ins and outs of the 
business. But it’s not easy to bring my mind to 
think it’s respectable . . .” 

“ Respectable ! ” flashed Petty-Zou. 

“ My meaning was, for a lady like you, mum. 


274 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


Perhaps I shouldn’t have said it; but I was sur- 
prised-like out of my mind. You may be sure that 
anything I do will be respectable.” 

The little gods? Petty-Zou’s heart shrank from 
the bare thought of pawning them again. She made 
herself a plausible excuse: “ Besides, if I don’t soon 
raise the money for Lord Wharton, I must be pack- 
ing them off to him. It would never do to part 
with them as an asset. It must be the scarabs; it 
is about their turn.” 

“ We might trust to the last post,” she began 
hesitatingly. 

“ No’m,” — Pouff was as firm as a rock. “ It’s 
Saturday and you won’t have no Sunday dinner.” 

Petty-Zou’s answer as she went into the bed- 
room was : “ Find me some decent paper and string, 
please.” 

When she returned ready to go, she was amazed 
by the apparition of Pouff similarly attired. No 
paper and string were visible. 

Petty-Zou’s eyes snapped, but without comment, 
she pulled open the dresser-drawer and began to 
search. 

“ You won’t find none there,” said Pouff 
serenely. “ I keeps them in a proper place. But 
I don’t see as they are needed, mum, as the case 
will go into my little bag.” 

“ Pouff, you are too absurd ! ” exclaimed Petty- 
Zou, trying not to laugh, vexed as she was to be so 
thwarted. 


A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 275 


“ Well’m, I sometimes thinks the same myself; 
and I do believe I’m growing worse. But, however, 
that there china bowl layin’ half finished on your 
table is pinin’ for your attention rnore’n what 
the pawnbroker is. Leave me to deal with him — 
if you’ll kindly furnish the address.” 

“ I won’t have you ” — began Petty-Zou, stamp- 
ing her foot a little; but she was nearly choked by 
Pouff’s fingers undoing the clasp of her cloak, 
which in her haste she had all too fiercely pinched 
together. 

“ But you said ” — Petty-Zou struggled for her 
dignity. 

Pouff was carefully removing hat-pins. “ What 
might be perfectly suitable for me is not quite the 
thing for a lady of your years and position,” she 
said. 

“ Anything may be all right. It depends on the 
way it is done,” insisted Petty-Zou, forgetting that 
Pouff had hinted at this very theory, a little while 
before. 

Then Pouff stepped back and looked at her but 
coldly : “ Perhaps you can’t trust me’m ? ” 

At this, with a little gesture of despair, Petty-Zou 
gave up altogether, and went back reluctantly to her 
china bowl. 

Pouff veiled her triumph with an air of discre- 
tion until she was outside the door. Then as she 
bounced from step to step in her exultation, she 
observed to herself: “If there was another way 


276 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


now? I don’t like to think of Miss Petty-Zou and 
the pawnshop. I’ll stop and have a word with 
Tudor.” 

She found him methodically peeling potatoes, 
while his wife hastily scamped the remainder of the 
week’s ironing before Sunday should be upon 
them. 

But Tudor did not leave to his sister-in-law the 
opening fire: “ Wot’s this talk I hear of butchers? ” 

The attack was so unexpected that she went 
fiery red, and hastily tossed up the pink-flannelette- 
Charles-Augustus to serve as a screen. Her as- 
sumed indifference was not as successful as usual: 
“ Meat gone up in price ? ” 

He treated her to a succession of winks, and for 
the moment declined to satisfy her curiosity: 
“ Where are you off to ? ” 

“ To a pawnbroker in King Street.” 

Tudor’s tusks had been visible in a broad grin. 
They were suddenly withdrawn. He tugged at 
his lean mustache as if pondering how to proceed. 
His retort, “ Not to your butcher’s, eh?” was an 
obvious feint to gain time. 

“ On my way home I shall certainly call at a 
butcher’s,” she answered with dignity — ‘‘unless I 
happen to pick up on a stall what I want, seein’ 
it’s Saturday night.” 

Tudor turned heavily upon his wife, who there- 
upon stopped the progress of her ironing, with peril 
to a pinafore: “ Gettin’ on, ain’t she? Smart and 


A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 277 


citified, hey? Learned to use her tongue? Up to 
town ways ? Sho ! ” 

Mrs. Tudor shook her head and rescued the pina- 
fore ; she was not sure that she altogether approved 
the briskness of her young sister. 

“ Well, now/’ continued the constable, who still 
had not got entirely away from his look of abstrac- 
tion, “ It might be — I don’t say as it is — that you 
was going to buy your meat from a very particular 
and special butcher ? ” 

“ Wherever I get it best and cheapest,” says she. 
“ Don’t be too wise, Billy. There’s some people 
in the world knows less than they thinks they 
knows — take a hint from a friend. But I came 
to ask you . . .” 

“ Little, chunky, apple-cheeked fellow — eh ? ” 

“ That’s as might be. I came to ask you . . .” 

“ Sort o’ sweet and soft expression about the 
eyes — eh? Waxes ’is little mwstache — and wears 
specs ? ” 

“ That’s neither here nor there. If you can 
show a spark of common sense, I’ll just inform 
you that me and the missus has had a fall-out.” 

“ What over? ” Tudor was serious enough now, 
but cool, as being a man who had encountered 
many emergencies. 

His wife with an unusually sour face was suck- 
ing a burnt finger. 

“ Over the pawnbroker — which of us were to 
go,” said she. 


2;8 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ Hum, I were a-comin’ to that presently/’ con- 
fessed Tudor, “ when I’d a-made up my mind. I 
know the chap she deals with: he’s bald as an egg 
with worry in’ over his gains, but he won’t jew 
you beyond the wrigglin’ point. However, I’ve 
been a-thinkin’ as you won’t neither of you go this 
day.” 

Pouff gaped, and her brother-in-law made matters 
still more mysterious by shooing his young brood 
into the bedroom and turning the key upon them — 
all but the Baby Elephant, still in Pouff’s arms, 
who as yet could neither receive nor impart con- 
nected English. 

“ I can go you one better than that. Wot you 
got to put away ? ” 

She showed him. 

“ All right,” said he. “ I’ll keep the stuff for 
the time; and give you a fiver. It’s more than 
you’d raise from the Jew, I take it. Can you get 
out of not showing the ticket? ” 

“ Trust me” said Pouff serenely, though her eyes 
were wide enough. 

But the constable’s wife was raising a reek of 
smoke from a sadly scorched garment. “ You ! ” 
she gasped, and advanced upon him, flat-iron in 
hand. “You!” 

He pretended abject fear, and retreated to the 
cupboard, whence from the top shelf he extracted 
from behind a row of empty jam pots, a small 
lock-box. “ Didn’t know it was there, did you ? ” 


A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 279 


he said triumphantly. “ That comes of me having 
no pockets.” 

“If you was a drinking man,” began his wife, 
whereupon he sat down on a chair and roared ; and 
when he could move for laughing, he unlocked his 
box and drew forth a five pound note, the sight 
of which speedily convinced the two women that 
he was in his proper senses. 

“ Whenever you have any more necklaces to 
put away,” says he, “ ’ere’s your shop.” He handed 
her the slip of paper and locked the case of scarabs 
in his little box. “ Whenever you wants to buy 
’em back again — catch on ? ” 

“ Think I do,” says Pouff. “ Who’s the man? ” 
“Aha!” said Tudor, and gave her one between 
the eyes. “ Not your butcher.” 

Thereupon he engaged in a moderate set-to with 
his wife, to ward off the storm of words that he 
saw descending. But as Pouff was fairly worsted 
for once in her life, and too much puzzled by the 
mystery to be her usual self, he found occasion to 
hurl after her, “ For small change go to your 
butcher! ” 


CHAPTER XXXII 


LOVE AT THE CORNER SHOP 

There was a solid foundation of truth under 
Tudor’s gibes, as anybody in the House could have 
told. Indeed, some of the good women were so 
scandalized at the notorious favouritism shown by 
the young man to Petty-Zou’s handmaid, that they 
transferred their patronage to the Lambeth stalls. 
It is true that Pouff was always particularly lofty 
and distant upon the topic; but there was not a 
family in the building that had not put two and 
two together and made a correct sum. And indeed, 
it must be confessed that on this very day, she did 
take her brother-in-law’s superfluous advice about 
small change. 

But no passer-by would have judged by the look 
of her, as, chin in the air, she sauntered along the 
opposite side of the street, that she had any inten- 
tion of approaching the corner shop; she seemed 
rather to be heading towards Lambeth. 

The butcher himself was on the pavement slicing 
bacon, for which there was always a large demand 
on Saturday night. He was by no means an ex- 
clusive beef-butcher, but dealt in pork as well, and 
fowls when he could get them cheap enough for his 
280 


LOVE AT THE CORNER SHOP 281 


district. He did not seem to notice the leisurely 
passage of Pouff; and the sharp “ Hi, there !” to 
which he gave utterance, had apparently no con- 
nection with anybody or anything. He calmly re- 
arranged one or two price-marks, and went on with 
his bacon. 

As slowly as she had progressed, Pouff returned, 
being both wary of a trap, and chary of favours. 

They exchanged cool and slightly surprised nods 
of greeting, then she asked in her most supercilious 
tone, jerking her thumb towards one of his bar- 
gains: “ What you call that? ” 

The butcher flashed his spectacles upon her, laid 
down his knife, deliberately wiped his hands on his 
cross-striped blue apron and placed them on his 
hips before he responded, with fine irony : “ Arsk 
me somethink easy, will you ? ” 

“ Huh! ” said she. “ You don’t know your own 
trade, / don’t think ! I’m off to Lambeth.” 

“ Sure it ain’t Colney ’atch ? ” said he, trying to 
nudge her confidentially. “ It’s pretty bad, I say, 
when you don’t know a ’ock o’ ’am when you sees 
it.” 

“ ’Ocks I know,” she said, refusing to be ruffled. 
It was marvellous to watch the mushroom growth 
of her Cockney in the sunshine of his countenance. 
“ But there’s ’ocks and ’ocks, an’ some o’ them 
wouldn’t know theirselves — let alone anybody else 
— Lord save us! But I ain’t callin’ that thing a 
’ock ; I calls it a bare shin-bone ! ” 


282 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ If you thinks you knows such a lot,” began the 
butcher jeeringly; but she was severe enough to 
have frightened twenty of his trade. 

“ Some ’ocks,” she observed impressively, “ is as 
like to others, as some some little spectacled monkeys 
is that fancies theirselves men!” 

“ I say ! ” was his retort, when he could find 
breath. “ I’ll ’ave you up for libel, you know ! ” 

“ Meanin’ yourself, Mr. Cruppy? ” she asked in- 
nocently. “Lord, who spoke of you?” Then 
giving him no time to answer, she continued : 
“ What you want for the rubbish now ? It would 
be a blessin’ to take it off’n your ’ands, I say.” 

“If you can’t see a price-mark under your very 
nose, you’d better be joinin’ an institution for the 
blind,” said he, savagely hacking some beef into 
mincemeat. 

“ That? ” says she, with a fine start of surprise. 
“ Course I see that, but I thought it belonged to the 
beautiful fowl there. Worth about threepence the 
pound ’e is, or was when ’e were younger.” 

The butcher grew redder still, but controlled his 
temper. 

“ Where’d you pick ’im up, anyway ? ’E’s a sea- 
gull — that’s wot *e is — come ashore by mistake. 
Catch anything else last time you went fishin’ ? ” 

The butcher’s face grew tragic : “ And that’s my 
thanks for them fine trout I sent you ! ” 

He became abruptly polite to a passing inquiry, 
then his gloom deepened. 


LOVE AT THE CORNER SHOP 283 


“Trout, was they?” she demanded, with much 
surprise. “ I’ve seed the like of them at Billings- 
gate — only they called ’em minnies there, and sold 
’em at three ha’pence the dozen — for bait.” 

“If there’s one thing I like better’n another,” 
observed the butcher, “ it’s to see a young person 
wot has nice, perlite manners.” His tone became 
exaggerated in its deference as he again faced her, 
asking: “Was it pork you was meanin’ to buy, 
miss ? ” 

“ When you’ll be so kind as to tell me the price,” 
answered Pouff, with extreme courtesy. 

He lifted the card and held it out at arm’s length 
from her. “ No doubt you can read,” he observed 
gently. 

“ Yes, Mr. Cruppy, I can read, thank you,” she 
answered with dignity, “ and since you have con- 
descended to point out which price-mark goes with 
which article, I’ll just be movin’ on to where I can 
get a ’ock as is a ’ock at ’arf the price.” 

The butcher sighed as he balanced the offending 
hock on his hand. 

“ ’E’s near three pounds,” said he, “ and you 
shall have ’im for eightpence-ha’penny.” 

“ I couldn’t deprive you of it, Mr. Cruppy — - 
really,” said she. 

But he was already wrapping it in the half sheet 
of an old Daily Mail. 

“ Anythink else ? ” he asked, with a kindly light 
in his spectacles, as he caught up a few sprigs of 


284 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


parsley from his tray of pigs' feet and dropped 
them into her string bag. 

“ Nothing that you've got," she answered. 

Fortunately — or unfortunately — there came a 
diversion in the way of trade. A small child ran up 
and cemanded a farden’s worth of bones. In a 
moment she was pushed away with a full penny- 
worth and the farden still in her grimy fist. But 
the auspicious moment had passed, and the butcher 
seemed unable to do anything but finger the edge 
of the chopper. 

“ I like your way o' doin' business," said Pouff, 
when both had wriggled some time in silence. 

“ I don’t care whether you do or not," said he 
hotly, and when at this she turned to move on, he 
brought her to a standstill with a sharp “ I say ! 
Wot you been cryin' about? " 

“ Much obliged to you, Mr. Cruppy, I'm sure ; 
but I should say that’s my own affair, and if you’ll 
kindly let go my string-bag, I’ll be buyin’ of my 
vegetables. Such impertinence I never did see — 
besides, if I had been a-cryin’ — which I haven’t 
and we won’t discuss ! ’’ 

She swung her bag free and moved on a few steps 
Lambeth-way. 

He cleared his throat : “ I sometimes goes to 
’ampstead 'eath of a Sunday afternoon?" He 
put it in the form of a question. 

“ Do you now ? I’m surprised to hear it. Must 
do your ’ealth a lot o’ good." 


LOVE AT THE CORNER SHOP 285 


“ Never you mind my ’ealth,” he growled. “ I’m 
thinkin’ o’ yourn.” 

“ Thanks. I’m not needin’ no fresh air cure — 
not yet,” said she. 

Then Nemesis descended in the person of a stout 
old woman in a crape bonnet, with glimpses of pur- 
ple cotton print showing under her beaded-velvet 
cape — an old woman who insisted on fingering 
all the stock and rejecting it with scorn. Pouff 
turned away from her young man to hide a smile. 

But he was desperate and left the customer to 
pick or steal as she chose : “ I’ll be on the Embank- 
ment — at your corner — two o’clock to-morrow — 
rain or shine.” 

She laughed as she escaped, but whether she gave 
further assent, the butcher could not tell. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

THE CATASTROPH’ 

It was not really many months that the little 
potter and her handmaid lived together in harmony. 
March passed and April, with Petty-Zou still under 
the shadow of hydrophobia, which the thoughtless 
Eleanor had never remembered to lift, and Pouff 
in the first stages of the butcher’s courtship. It 
was in May that Tudor revealed himself in the light 
of an amateur pawnbroker. By June it had come 
to be felt through the House that the situation was 
somewhat strained between mistress and maid; but 
not even the astute Lemons guessed how Petty- 
Zou’s worry increased with hot weather, or how the 
butcher’s ardour burning high under the midsum- 
mer sun, had caught Pouff in a sad dilemma between 
love and duty. In this state of common tension, 
the two came to grief and fell out over — singularly 
enough — a bed. 

None save those that know the devotion of the 
English middle-class mind to “ a proper bed,” could 
imagine the aversion with which from the first the 
little maid had regarded Petty-Zou’s Shell. Her 
feeling was due not at all to the awkwardness of 
286 


THE CATASTROPH’ 


287 


arranging it day by day, but entirely to her sense 
of what was fitting for her mistress. Her dream, 
frankly confessed once in a moment of confidence, 
was to see the thing chopped up for firewood, and 
in its place a beautiful iron, brass-tipped bedstead 
with an embroidered coverlet and a down quilt 
neatly folded across its foot. 

Against this, Petty-Zou protested with all her 
might, on the grounds of expense, of art, of old 
association and comfort. Each of these arguments 
Pouff met neatly: she would save the money grad- 
ually out of the house-keeping; there was too much 
art already about the place; and old associations 
never trouble anybody as comfortable as her mis- 
tress would be in the bed after her own heart. 

However, as Petty-Zou continued to shake her 
head obstinately, she seemed to yield the point for a 
time. 

Both women continued very melancholy. Pouff 
worked off her emotions first on Petty-Zou’s flat, 
then on Larry's, darned old Seascale’s socks and 
finally turned her attention to the all but hopeless 
task of making something out of Danny Wale. Do 
what she would, she had many tearful hours over 
the thought that butchers will be butchers and no 
man waits forever, and with a nice tidy set of 
rooms above the shop, too, which any girl would 
bite her head off to step into . . . while a 

Miss Petty-Zou without a keeper was never to be 
thought of in this world. . . . 


288 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


And her mistress also worked hard, under the 
prick of a necessity to refund soon — ah, soon! — 
the outlay advanced by a certain aristocrat in behalf 
of a poor emigrant now said to be happily estab- 
lished in Australia. There were days, however, 
when she was possessed with a fever to do nothing 
but replace — the green medallion that had gone the 
way of Lady Susan’s tea-set, on Mrs. Barker’s 
eventful last day. Whether she had a dim notion 
that if somebody died of — you know what, she 
would not be slow to follow, and that this would 
be at once his monument and her crowning life- 
work, I cannot tell; but at times she wrought as 
savagely as secretly. 

If, however, she deluded herself with the belief 
that Pouff observed nothing of this, imagine how 
she would have felt if, one afternoon when she and 
Pip were riding on a penny steamer, they had 
returned earlier than usual and caught the hand- 
maid ushering Tudor into the workroom with a 
blunt: “There! That’s ’im as I calls her fancy! 
Now do you know who it is?” Nor would she 
have been pleased to see how Tudor stared, gulped 
and finally departed, shaking with inward laughter, 
his hand over his mouth as if in fear of inadvertent 
revelations. And yet the policeman, when Pouff 
had suggested shrewdly, “ Ain’t got anything to do 
with your sudden crop of fivers, I suppose?” had 
only shaken his head as one that might say much 
if he would, and gone his way. 


THE CATASTROPH’ 


289 


However, Pouff ’s curiosity — and perhaps her 
only hope of escape from duty to love — having 
been stifled, her heart swelled with a deep sense of 
grievance that found expression in the matter of 
the bed. 

She said one day, with a forced airiness that 
covered unknown depths of emotion : “ Pve saved 
up twenty-seven-and-six, mum.” 

But Petty-Zou’s flippancy matched hers : “ Then 
go and buy yourself a hat.” 

“ A hat ? ” sniffed Pouff . “ I could buy ten hats 

for that! But I saw some beauties in Tottenham 
Court Road that didn’t cost no more.” 

“Hats? In Tottenham Court Road?” 

“ No’m,” said Pouff, very firmly. “ Beds.” 

“ Ah ? ” said Petty-Zou, with dangerous sweet- 
ness; and added after a breathless silence between 
the two of them : “You know there can’t be two 
mistresses in one household. 

“ No’m,” said Pouff indulgently. 

“ Very well then. It’s a month’s notice from the 
moment you mention beds again.” 

“ I think ” — began Pouff. 

“ It’s past opinion,” said Petty-Zou very firmly. 
“ You have your choice.” 

“ But it’s for your own comfort, mum,” pleaded 
the girl. 

“ My comfort and my discomfort are my own,” 
said Petty-Zou. 

“ But I know . . ” 


290 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


Then the mistress gave the challenge direct : “ I 

am waiting to hear the word bed.” 

Pouff swallowed hard, several times over, blink- 
ing as if the unruly syllable were choking her; but 
she made no reply. 

“ You know,” continued Petty-Zou with dove- 
like gentleness, “ you have reached such a point 
that you think you can make me do exactly as you 
like. Really, if I wanted to, I could make you go 
to-day . . .” 

“ You couldn’t ” — Pouff seemed still to be chok- 
ing. 

“ Oh, yes, I could, by paying a month’s wages. 
It’s quite legal.” 

“ Please, ’m,” said Pouff, in a faint, weak voice 
that hardened Petty-Zou’s judicial “ Well? > ’ 

“ It’s only the money for the stores. I want to 
do my buying-in.” 

Then Petty-Zou counted out in gold and in silver 
the sum they had agreed upon as sufficient for 
a month’s housekeeping; and although her purse 
was thereby flattened to nothing, she was thankful 
to have enough for the swelling of the funds. 

At the same time, she was conscious of a growing 
sense of injury as Pouff reached for the cash-box, 
unlocked it, deposited the money except what she 
reserved for immediate use, and so returned the 
box to its shelf. It was distinctly odd, said Petty- 
Zou to herself, that she had no longer a word as 
to the disposition of her own money. 


THE CATASTROPH’ 


291 


When Pouff came out of her bedroom, with her 
eyes as red as the cherries on her hat, Petty-Zou 
felt her resolution swelling in a great wave until 
it broke into impetuous speech : “ Pouff , I really 
think for our souls’ good, both of us, that it is 
time we should part ! ” 

The girl gasped and gulped a little, finally got 
out : “ I ain’t mentioned the — you know what, 

mum.” 

“ No,” said Petty-Zou, “ but I have decided that 
I cannot keep you any longer; so I’ll pay you a 
month’s wages, and you can stop with the Tudors 
until you find another place.” 

As she spoke, Petty-Zou stared into the reflec- 
tion of the room imaged in the little convex glass. 
She did not dare to face Pouff, for the wave of 
her resolution had already dwindled away to a 
meagre and pathetic ripple. 

“ Perhaps, mum,” said Pouff, with icy politeness, 
“ you would be so kind as to give me some sort of 
explanation, which, my meaning is, it is no more 
than my due.” 

“ It’s the only way to cut the Gordian Knot,” an- 
swered Petty-Zou. 

“ I don’t know about no Gordon-Knot,” said 
Pouff doggedly, forgetting this once to store up a 
new expression for future use, “ but what I do 
know is as I’m not a-goin’ — ” 

Petty-Zou set her lips hard, her eyes flashing 
like blue steel . . . 


292 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ Leastways, not till I’ve bought-in your stores 
and give you your tea, and made you all comforta- 
ble for the night.” 

Petty-Zou released her hard grip of the win- 
dow-seat, and laughed with relief : “ All right. 

Go after tea.” 

Left alone, she at first hugged her knees and 
rocked herself with delight, laughing the while at 
Sidonia in the glass; but presently one of them said 
with a doubtful air: “But will she go, do you 
think? You’ve tried before to get rid of her, 
you know.” And after a little pause, the same 
voice added : “ And if she does, what in the world 

will you do ? ” 

It must have been naughty Sidonia who retorted : 
“ Get up when I like, work when I please, eat when 
I am hungry, and sit up all night if I choose. 
Poor Pouff! She has done her best, but we are 
not — not compatible, you know.” 

“ But then,” said the other little voice, “ suppose 
she insists upon staying on, what . . . ? What 

to do?” 

She left Sidonia in the glass, looking very dis- 
consolate, and wandered restlessly into the pottery, 
where standing by the window, watching the swift 
and tawny Thames below, she was suddenly over- 
come by gipsy-madness, and saw in a flash that the 
thing to do was to run away from it all. Suppose 
Pouff insisted upon staying — ? “Very good,” 
says Petty-Zou. “If she won’t go, I will.” 


THE CATASTROPH’ 


293 


She flew then to make her preparations before 
the shopper should return. Knapsack? Money? 
It was too late that day to go to the Bank ; she must 
rob the cash-box — her own cash-box. 

All of a tremble at the mental image of Pouff 
trapesing homeward along The Marsh with a knob- 
bly string-bag, she scrambled into her blue serge 
skirt and hunted out the blue cap that set so jauntily 
on the fluff of her silver and gold hair; and she 
laced her shoes in less time than Pouff could have 
bought a pound of turnips. At the cost of a knife- 
blade and a pair of scissors, besides two or three 
hat-pins, she succeeded in breaking open the cash- 
box and possessing herself of its contents. 

Then after a hasty glance firom the window had 
assured her that Pouff was not yet in sight, she sat 
down at her desk and proceeded to map out that 
young woman’s future. 

A letter to Tudor, one to Eleanor, one to the 
offender, and a most eulogistic character, with fre- 
quent little dabs at the window between these ef- 
forts — and Petty-Zou was ready for her flitting. 

She crept downstairs, and holding her breath, 
slipped an envelope into Tudor’s box; then fled 
down into the street, flushed like a guilty thing. 
She almost ran from back lane to alley, through 
court and passage. 

And all the while Pouff was pounding homeward, 
hardening her resolve not to be turned away by her 
wilful little mistress. 


294 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


She was astonished enough to find the rooms 
empty; but when she had read Petty-Zou’s various 
communications, including a demand that she at 
once deliver up her latch-key to the authority of 
Tudor, amazement gave way to wounded pride. 
She went downstairs in such a state of tears as 
none of her family had ever seen before, and 
sobbed out on Mrs. Tudor’s bosom: “ It’s nothink 
less than — a — a — catastroph’ ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


THE OPEN ROAD 

It would have been quite like Petty-Zou to stop 
short in a crowded street, turn three times round 
with her eyes shut, and then set off the way Provi- 
dence indicated. I do not know that she actually 
did this, upon the present occasion; but it was bare 
chance that brought her to Charing Cross Station 
and led her there to study a time-table, in anxious 
expectation of some omen. She was not spe- 
cially drawn to any one place; but in London 
she felt like an amateur thief anticipating every mo- 
ment the detective's hand on his shoulder. She did 
not stop to reason out that she had stolen no more 
than her own; she did not remind herself that she 
had even gone so far as to reserve and dedicate to 
the exclusive use of Rosa Gunglewick, the exact 
sum that young woman claimed to have saved out 
of the housekeeping — this in addition to double 
wages. 

Her finger wandered restlessly up and down the 
list of towns. Having little money, she told her- 
self that she must travel but a short way, and live 
humbly as befits a poor woman. 

295 


296 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“Dorking — Dorking?” she said. “What as- 
sociation have I with Dorking ? ” But when she 
had thought some while, and time was pressing if 
she intended to reach any destination before dark, 
she still could not track the memory that was be- 
setting her subconscious mind. “ It must be the 
five-toed fowls,” she said at last. “ They don’t 
sound interesting, but as the other impression won’t 
come back, I may as well go and have a look at 
them.” 

So she booked for Dorking, and not until her 
train had slid past the slate roofs and chimney-pots 
of Clapham did she recover from her sense of es- 
cape, her delight in outwitting Pouff, and her in- 
tense regret at having to turn the poor girl, almost 
without warning, loose into a ravenous world. 
“ But there’s always Tudor,” she comforted her- 
self, “ and after a week or two, when she finds out 
that I’m not to be trifled with, I’ll go back and 
see that she gets a comfortable place.” 

From this, being alone in the carriage, she fell 
into dreary meditations on the limits of the possi- 
ble dangers of hydrophobia and other unpleasant 
topics, until the elms and hedge-rows awakened her 
to the coming delights of freedom in the open, and 
she began to sniff in the country air. 

Alighted at her little red station, she never so 
much as remembered to look for a fowl, but walked 
up into the town as if she had known it all her 
life, and took the first turning into the country, 


THE OPEN ROAD 297 

facing a long hill crested with black pines against 
a stormy, purple sky. 

Being a capital walker, she took her three miles 
an hour easily, with springing step, head uplifted to 
the breeze, her little knapsack swinging from her 
shoulders. The joy-of-the-road- without-ending be- 
gan to sing in her heart. 

When the red market-town had dropped back 
among its own greenery, she was about twenty 
years old; and when she had reached the crest of 
the first big hill and saw about her no dwellings 
of men, but only the wavy uplands, here and there 
patched with trees, the valleys yellowing with har- 
vests, the crests already pink with heather, she must 
have lost another ten years or more, for she was 
almost overcome by the longing to roll down the 
grassy slope into a bed of bracken, and was de- 
terred chiefly by the suspicion of a hidden brook- 
let. 

So she kept to the ups and downs of the high- 
road, and sometimes she sang a little song. Sweetly 
could she trill out old ditties in French and Italian 
and Spanish, her clear voice quavering with mem- 
ories of the studio at Montmartre, where she had 
sat with her uncle by the windows, watching all 
Paris, smoking or ablaze with lights at their feet, 
with memories of the old church of San Giorgio 
degli Schiavoni in Venice, where they had copied 
together details of Carpaccio — dear memories that 
gave a plaintive tone to the fragments of foolish old 


298 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


songs that haunted her. When she came to a wee 
brook bordered with osiers and rushes, she hummed 
of the French girl going for water in the dewy 
morning, with the cadence : 

“Du long de lin , de lin de I’eau” 

In the shadow of woods she chanted the dolorous 
old ballad of the princess whose lover must perish 
at daybreak: 

“ Helas , il ri a nul mal qui n’ a le mal d’ amour! ” 

In the middle of one of these songs, she came sud- 
denly upon a farmer driving half a dozen sheep 
before him, and felt all at once that she was a silly 
old woman. 

They had a few words together about the pros- 
pects of the wheat crop. 

“ Yes, missus,” he told her, “ we hope and we 
hope — us farmers. Hope is what we live on — 
and a poor thing at that.” 

“ No,” she cried, with shining eyes. “ It’s the 
dearest thing in the world — I know! ” 

But he shook his head doubtfully as he passed 
on, and took with him some of the freshness of her 
joy. 

The sun sank in torn, opalescent clouds below the 
crests of the pines in front, and the purple lights 
were upon the earth, while the black hill seemed as 


THE OPEN ROAD 


299 


far away as before. She asked herself whither she 
was bound, and what she should find on the other 
side. 

Suddenly she climbed up into a great common 
of heather and gorse and broom, its purple and 
golden hues shining even in the twilight in con- 
trast with a jagged line of hoary, wind-broken 
Scotch firs that partly screened away the misty 
plain below. 

It was lonely there — without even the call of a 
bird. The wind seemed to be gradually rising 
with a minor cadence that breathed of faraway 
storms. 

She sang again for company’s sake, and because 
she was growing a bit tired, a little ancient song 
with the chorus: 

“ Allons an bois, 

I Allons , m’ amour, 

Allons y done an poinct du jour” 

She sang and shivered a little as she drew near the 
black shadow of the forest-covered hills. 

She descended a lane with great earth-banks 
twenty or thirty feet above her head, topped with 
trees that linked themselves together and shut out 
the sky. Road and banks and tree-trunks were 
damp with moss and mould ; she shivered again and 
longed for a cottage. 

.When she came out intodhe open air, she was just 


300 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


at the foot of the last sharp ascent of the hill, where 
the road is lost to view in dense woods. The dusk 
had thickened now with the rain-clouds that had 
crept up from behind the trees and mastered the 
zenith. 

It was then and there, when her anxious eyes 
were wandering from the sky round the horizon 
for the twinkle of a cottage-light, that she discov- 
ered the grey cat. It was a wild starveling, and it 
made its presence known by a cry that was half 
snarl, half wail. 

She did not stop to ask herself whether the ani- 
mal was a bad hunter, or whether rabbits were 
scarce, or whether she had before her an outcast 
from all decent feline society; she only remembered 
with poignant regret that she had eaten the last of 
the sandwiches she had hastily bundled together at 
the time of her flitting. Still, she sat down on the 
bank, forgetful of coming night and storm, and 
one by one transferred the objects in her knapsack 
to her lap. Her hope was not altogether unfounded. 
She discovered a few crumbs and fragments that 
had broken up and slipped out of the hastily secured 
parcel, and she turned these out upon the road, as 
the fur-covered skeleton slunk up, sniffing hungrily. 
Before the food was gulped, she had caught the 
wild thing with a dexterous movement, and notwith- 
standing its struggles, succeeded in holding it fast, 
and even in soothing it a little. 

Then she looked about in despair. Those ribs 


THE OPEN ROAD 


301 


that she could count by sight and by touch, must be 
padded out somehow ; and the landscape was empty. 
There was not even a light to guide her. 

But help came, as it often does, along a cross- 
lane. She had scarcely noticed -the little road until 
she heard a gate shut with a click, and perceived 
before her a belated farm-boy driving home a cow. 

“ I say,” she called earnestly. 

The youth and cow stopped and together gaped 
at her. 

She freed one hand and rummaged for a folding- 
cup among her effects: “Would you mind filling 
this with milk for me ? ” 

“ Eh ? ” said the bumpkin, coming near. The 
cow grunted and languidly mumbled a handful of 
grass. 

“ I’ve a starving cat here. I want some milk.” 

Mechanically he took from her hand the cup that 
she had unfolded and held out to him; then he 
stood looking at it, open-mouthed, as if he could not 
make up his mind what it was for. 

“ Oh, do make haste,” she pleaded. “ It’s late 
and I don’t know where I am. And I must see this 
cat fed.” 

But the idea had not penetrated his brain. 

She reached suddenly into the little leather bag 
that hung from her belt and drew out a sixpence. 

“ Now, milk,” says she, “ if you know how to 
milk.” And that he understood. 

Between the cat’s first and second cups, he looked 


302 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


at the darkening horizon and murmured : “ She’s 

mad!” 

Between the second and third, he whistled softly 
between his teeth; and after that he said nothing at 
all. 

When the vagabond had had its fill, she learned 
that the nearest cottage was half a mile further 
along the road, near the hill-crest. 

While she was packing up her knapsack again, 
the farmer’s boy and the lumbering cow crossed 
over to the continuation of their lane, and the gate 
clicked behind them. 

She set her face bravely into the thick black 
wood, and the cat followed, purring. 

Fifteen minutes later the world was in a deluge. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


ON THE ENEMY’S LAND 

She had no clear memory of the half mile that 
she walked through the wood in rain and darkness. 
She knew that she had stumbled into ditches at first 
dry and thorny, but soon running with rivulets; 
that she had been scratched and torn by brambles; 
she felt the water trickling from her cap down upon 
the tip of her nose, and squelching through the thin 
soles of her shoes. She remembered well that when 
the cat cried pitifully, she took it up and carried it. 

In time she saw the cottage lamp shining through 
the window ; and dripping and gasping, she reached 
a little porch and asked for shelter on the sup- 
position that some good Samaritan dwelled within. 

The kindly woman — for indeed she came up to 
Petty-Zou’s expectations of her character — at once 
admitted the poor little traveller and made her feel 
at home. This fact in itself is not so surprising, for 
many people take Petty-Zou on faith ; but she 
graciously assented to the stranger’s stipulation for 
the cat as well. 

“ I’m afraid you won’t think much of her ap- 
pearance,” said Petty-Zou, still in the porch. 
3°3 


3o 4 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 

“ She’s a stranger to me ; but I think she’s probably 
better than she looks. Anyway, she was starving, 
so I had to bring her along.” 

“ And welcome,” says the cottager. “ I’m a lone 
woman, but I knows a lady, even in the dark with a 
cat in her arms.” 

She held the door wide, and Petty-Zou with 
many apologies, dripped her way across the kitchen 
to the hearth, and was much cried out upon for her 
wetness. 

There was quickly an offer of Sabbath clothes; 
and in ten minutes Petty-Zou was arrayed in black 
cashmere and a cap — the hostess’s preventive 
against cold in the head. When they two were to- 
gether, she conducted herself most widowly; but 
when she was banished to the newly-lighted fire in 
the parlour, while supper was a-getting, she began 
to feel chilled, so she took off her cap, shook down 
her bright hair and already stocking-footed, manip- 
ulated a skirt-dance before the round eyes of the 
drying cat. 

Afterwards, she had a neat little supper by the 
fire, and in a clean little bed was lulled to sleep by 
the rain-drip from the thatch. She admitted to her- 
self, now she had won the battle against Pouff, that 
ordinary spring-mattresses were not altogether to 
be despised. 

In the morning, her first glimpse was of pines 
over the way, and a bit of garden choked with roses 
and sweet peas. She was rather pleased when the 


ON THE ENEMY’S LAND 


305 


widow told her that her own clothes were not yet 
perfectly dry, though they were doing their best be- 
fore a roaring flame ; and that what to give her for 
shoes was a problem, seeing that their feet were 
many sizes apart. 

“ Never mind,” says Petty-Zou, “ I shall be quite 
happy here until they dry, on the big settle by the 
kitchen-fire — there’s a chill in the air almost like 
autumn.” 

This drew forth ejaculatory lamentations over the 
leaky state of the roof, which the agent had prom- 
ised to come and look at this very morning, and a 
good job too, just after the storm; over the mud- 
diness of the traveller’s garments; over the for- 
lornness of the starved cat. 

“ My husband was a hedger-and-ditcher all his 
life on the estate,” said the woman, “ and when he 
died this little place was made over to me for as long 
as I like to keep it. And my only daughter’s in 
service up at the Hall — oh, but it’s wonderful, con- 
sidering what landlords are nowadays. We think 
ourselves lucky enough in these parts. And Mr. 
Billesley . . ” 

“ Billesley ? ” Petty-Zou was not listening very 
attentively. The good woman’s remarks as she 
moved between kitchen and scullery were as inter- 
esting as the droning of a fly on the window-pane, 
and as soothing. 

“ Yes, Mr. Billesley’s the agent as I was a-telling 
you of . . she murmured away, apparently 


3o6 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


as much for the pleasure of hearing her own voice 
as of getting answers from her guest; and finally 
when she went away into the scullery altogether, 
Petty-Zou could still hear her mumbling. Perhaps 
she had unconsciously formed the habit of talking 
to herself. 

Petty-Zou was stirred from a dream by a rattle 
of wheels and looked up to see a smart groom driv- 
ing past with luggage. Then again she made her- 
self happy with the cat, and lost account of time un- 
til she again heard the padding of hoofs, this time 
without wheels, which stopped abruptly in front of* 
the house. The old woman hurried down the gar- 
den, wiping her hands upon her apron; and her 
slow returning footsteps were accompanied by the 
tread of a man whose figure was hidden by a rose- 
trellis. 

“ Billesley,” said Petty-Zou to herself, and 
reached down to the fender for one of her neatly- 
polished shoes, to see if it was perfectly dry. Dis- 
covering a hopelessly hard knot in the rain-soaked 
laces, she bent with a frown to its undoing; but 
she had not progressed far when the sound of a step 
on the tiles behind the settle, made her glance in- 
stinctively up into the small looking-glass that hung 
over the mantel-piece. 

“ Let me try,” said a familiar voice, at the very 
moment when she perceived in the glass a familiar 
hand taking her shoe from her, over the back of 
the settle. 


ON THE ENEMY’S LAND 


307 

She leaned far away and would not look up 
again : “ What are you doing here ? ” 

“ What should a man be doing on his own land ? 
Looking into a leak in my own cottage — eh? ” 

“And Billesley — ? ” she murmured foolishly, 
not knowing what she said. 

“ Billesley is busy to-day, so I promised to stop 
on my way to the station. I scarcely expected to 
find you here.” He was leaning both arms over 
the back of the settle, quite as if he never meant to 
go away, and his picking at the knot of the lace 
was only a pretence. She looked sideways in both 
directions for the cottage woman ; but that good soul 
was no longer visible or audible. 

Dear, deary! She could find never a word to 
say ; and asked stupidly : “ Have you to get a 
train?” 

He consulted his watch : “ Luggage gone on — 

heaps of time. And — dozens of trains a day.” 

“ I didn’t know — didn’t know this was your part 
of the country,” she stammered; but before she had 
concluded, it flashed through her brain that this 
had been her vague association with the town of 
Dorking. She felt scorched with shame. 

“ Yes, about two miles further. Straight on.” 

“ And is the nearest village Abbey Hammer ? ” 
she was impelled to ask. 

“ This is the first house of Abbey Hammer ” — 
he struggled to conceal amusement at some thought 
of his own, still leaning and looking down upon her, 


308 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


and lightly swinging the shoe from the knotted lace. 

She drew the cottager’s wide black skirt about 
her feet, and wondered how she might best escape : 
“Of course, I remember now; but when I took 
my ticket, the thought never entered my head; oth- 
erwise . . 

“ You wouldn’t have come for the world — I 
understand,” he said. “ But certainly the highways 
are free and it’s pretty country. Or it may be that 
you came to look at the fowls ? ” said he lightly. 

She stirred unhappily, gazing into the fire. “ Ah, 
you want your shoe, I see,” he continued. “ I must 
solve the knot with my knife — so. Rather thin 
soles, are they not, for a walking-tour ? May I ask, 
are you going far ? ” 

She permitted one swiftly-vanishing dimple: 
“ When I have seen the fowls — no.” 

“You might come and have a look at mine?” 
he suggested. 

“ Thank you. Mrs. Lyndhurst has some. I 
hear them now. When my shoe is dry — please 
give it to me.” 

He dangled it idly, seeming not to have heard. 
“ Alone ? ” he asked. 

At first she nodded : “No, I picked up a cat on 
the way. I don’t know what I shall do with her 
if she doesn’t want to go on.” 

“ I should suggest a bull-terrier or a great Dane 
for the remainder of the journey,” said he, with a 
touch of grimness. 


ON THE ENEMY’S LAND 


309 


“It is quite safe, thank you. Your England!” 
— she tried to jeer, without much success. He was 
silent, still swinging the dainty little shoe by its lace 
until in sheer embarrassment, she asked finally: 
“ How is the Countess ? ” 

“ So-so ” — his eyes twinkled at a sudden mem- 
ory. “ She told me about an interesting interview 
with you among the broken china.” 

Petty-Zou felt still more uncomfortable, but she 
managed to ask, with a spice of naughtiness : “ Did 

she find it interesting ? ” 

He laughed outright: “ No, but I did.” 

“ I must be on my way,” she answered staidly. 
“ And your train? ” 

“ It must wait until I have made up my mind. I 
am on the eve of a decision — rather important, at 
any rate to myself. I have a good chance to let the 
Hall on a seven years’ lease — excellent people and 
all that. In my present uncertain mode of life, 
Billesley rather advises it. I should have much 
more money for your hated subscription lists.” 

“ But what would you do ? ” she asked, with a 
premonition of something dreadful to come. 

“ I don’t know. They tell me there’s good shoot- 
ing on the East Coast . . .” he mused into the 

fire, as if forgetful of her presence. 

“Not Africa?” she breathed; and her eyes di- 
lated with a sudden ghastly memory of hydrophobia 
and the increased chances of its development in a 
swampy jungle. 


3io THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


He could see that she was upset, but feared to 
pursue his advantage; and in his brief silence, she 
wriggled away from him again. “ Oh, I want my 
shoe ! ” she wailed. 

At this, he came round and sat down by her side : 
“ Put out your foot then.” 

She drew it further away until he laughed, then 
held it forth obediently. 

“ Much too thin,” he observed, “ and lamentably 
stiff.” 

“ They were soaked yesterday. Pussy and I 
were drenched,” she said absently, for she was try- 
ing to discover unostentatiously whether his right 
hand bore still the mark of a scar. 

He was very slow about getting the shoe on ; but 
in the end he did it well. “ If you won't let me 
take care of you,” he said somewhat sternly, “ you 
might at least have the grace to take care of your- 
self.” 

“ And so I do,” she retorted, and could have bit- 
ten her tongue out for the next words. “ And that’s 
why I ran away.” 

“ Ran away ? ” He too forgot his part : “ Ran 
away from Rosa Gunglewick? ” 

Perhaps it was the wild amazement in her eyes 
that unnerved him completely. “ From one tyrant 
to another,” he murmured, in premature triumph; 
and the next moment was a blur to both. 

When they recovered themselves, the respectable, 
middle-aged lord was galloping like any breakneck 


ON THE ENEMY’S LAND 311 

Lothario, headlong down the muddy hill; while a 
most piteous little old maid in one shoe, rocked 
herself on the settle and wept as despairingly as 
any forlorn Amanda. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


A PERVERSE PILGRIM 

By the time that Mrs. Lyndhurst returned 
from the neighbourly errand that had become so 
discreetly and opportunely necessary, Amanda was 
gone and Petty-Zou sat in her own skirt, as mud- 
free as was possible, with her knapsack packed and 
her mind seemingly occupied with the stray cat’s 
future. 

She broached the subject as delicately as possible : 
“ She’s not beautiful or clever or interesting; but 
like other cats, she must eat.” 

“ Well, mum,” says the good woman, at that 
moment, no doubt, more interested in Petty-Zou, 
“ like enough she’ll hunt for herself.” 

“ But no ” — Petty-Zou shook her head — “ she 
tried that, you see, and couldn’t make a living. She 
looks oldish and maybe she’s half-witted. I have 
a fellow-feeling for her. She ought to be pen- 
sioned. Would you take her as a boarder at six- 
pence a week ? It isn’t much, I know . . 

“ She can have my scraps and welcome,” began 
the woman, with an air of offence. 

But Petty-Zou would not listen to that, and before 
Mrs. Lyndhurst had fairly caught her breath, her 
312 


A PERVERSE PILGRIM 


3i3 


guest had arranged to send a postal order for two 
shillings every month to cover the cat’s expenses, 
and had decreed that she should be called “ Hope- 
ful ” because she followed the Pilgrim as long as 
she could. 

And when all the arrangements had been made 
and the little bill settled, the two women parted 
excellent friends. 

But Petty-Zou had first to listen, perhaps not al- 
together unwillingly, to a longish hymn of praise in 
honour of the visitor of the morning, who appeared 
to be unequalled in the county as a landlord and a 
gentleman; and who spent his days walking about, 
unlike the Evil One , seeking whom he might 
benefit. At least so spoke Mrs. Lyndhurst; and 
Petty-Zou had to admit this early-morning thought- 
fulness over a leaky thatch. 

When she would hear no more of his lordship’s 
merits, she had to listen to praises of the Hall and 
the park, the library, the deer, the Van Dykes even, 
until she was fairly driven to flight. Mrs. Lynd- 
hurst seemed disappointed and grieved because she 
would not promise to go up and see the pictures, de- 
claring that Mrs. Galt, the housekeeper, was always 
delighted to take strangers about. 

At the turn of the road, the Pilgrim stopped and 
waved her hand to Mrs. Lyndhurst at the gate, 
clutching to her bosom old “ Hopeful ” who clawed 
and squalled to follow on the Pilgrimage. It cut 
Petty-Zou deeply to leave this companion, but she 


3X4 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


cheered herself with the thought that the said friend 
.was compelled to her own happiness. Poor little 
beggar! 

It was a pity that no Larry or Eleanor stood by 
to point the moral. 

Being alone now, Petty-Zou continued her climb 
of the long hill, with only such thoughts as she could 
find for herself. I am sure that she was not singing 
then. I greatly fear that all the spice had been 
taken out of her adventure, and that her joy was 
sadly staled. It is possible that she was near weep- 
ing from chagrin over Pouff, vexation over clay- 
stains on her frock, anxiety about the future of 
Hopeful, discomfort in her hard little shoes — 
and Other Things. It is doubtful whether she 
progressed more than two miles an hour. But not 
for forty Wharton Halls blocking her path would 
she have turned aside from the straight course of 
her journey. 

She knew her approach to the place by heart- 
beats, before she saw the coat-of-arms. The high 
gates of wrought-iron, set between stone pillars 
crowned massively with lichen-covered pine-apples, 
stood hospitably open. The banks along the road- 
side were so delightfully shaded with gnarled 
beeches that she yielded to the temptation to sit 
down a moment and catch her breath. 

There was an ivy-covered lodge to the left of the 
long straight drive, but no one seemed to be stirring. 
Petty-Zou, her chin in her palms, sat facing the 


A PERVERSE PILGRIM 


3i5 


avenue that ends in a glimpse of fagade of dull 
brick overhung with creeper — she fancied some of 
it to be wisteria in blossom. It was topped by a 
high peaked roof with many chimneys, one of which 
sent a straight thin spiral of smoke into the blue air. 
The glimpse she had was tantalizing in its sugges- 
tion of much behind — terraces and rose-gardens. 
At her end, the avenue was bounded by double brick 
walls, the outer much higher, the inner tricked out 
with quaint devices in greenish stone of flowers and 
fruits, peaked flames, balls and monsters set at reg- 
ular intervals. She wondered whether a moat lay 
between the two. 

Almost involuntarily, she found herself straying 
across the road, and found not only water, but 
strange starry lilies of wondrous fashions. She 
lost herself in memories of Egypt and Japan, where 
last she had seen them growing. 

At the back of her mind was a little memory of 
Mrs. Lyndhurst’s amazement that she should not 
go in to see the Van Dykes. It was part of the 
housekeeper’s duty, she had said, to show people 
round. Petty-Zou swung her foot irresolutely, re- 
membered, by some trick of association, Elizabeth 
in Pride and Prejudice , and turned to move on. 
But Elizabeth once evoked, would not to go away, 
and the water-lilies were most exquisite. She 
lingered still, wondering if there were any remote 
traces of pride or prejudice in their situation. She 
had just decided that he must be in London, per- 


316 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


haps arranging details of his passage to Africa, 
when . . . 

“ Well — well — well ” . . . She blinked 

through a topsy-turvy world to find him by her side 
on the little bridge. She thought the sight a fig- 
ment of the brain until she heard the cropping of his 
horse on a near bank. “ I thought I should over- 
take you. I couldn’t leave you after that — I had 
to come back to ask forgiveness, you see.” 

She was silent. 

“ Be kind,” he urged. 

Then she said in a clear, icy little voice : “ I’m 
afraid it was absolutely inexcusable.” 

“ I can’t deny that,” said he simply. 

“ You acted like a boy of twenty-one! ” 

“ Well ” — he hesitated, in some doubt as to how 
she would take this — “and you looked like a girl 
of eighteen. So we were matched there.” 

She waited a little until the silence grew un- 
bearable, then : “ And you don’t even say you’re 
sorry ! ” 

“ I’m not sorry,” he defended himself stoutly. 

This was too much; her anger flamed high and 
sought another cause of offence: “And you have 
confessed that you deliberately sent that girl Rosa 
Gunglewick to spy upon me ! ” 

“ Spy is not the word,” said he, “ and I don’t re- 
pent of that, either. Circumstances demanded noth- 
ing less than such a course of action.” 

She set her lips in a line : “ What else? ” 


A PERVERSE PILGRIM 


317 


“ What else? Oh, I’ll confess to any depth of 
iniquity, if it pleases you.” It may be observed that 
he did not own up to the possession of the scarab 
necklace. 

She began to walk away from him : “ And 

what possible guarantee have I from you in the 
future? ” 

“ Quite so. What have you ? ” he asked eagerly. 

She looked at him hard for a moment, then 
walked on: “ Only myself.” 

“ Half yourself — or less,” he corrected eagerly. 

She walked a little faster. 

He did not move, but at the sound of his voice, 
she faltered, stopped, and half turned round, but 
could not meet his eyes. “ My dear, my dear ! ” 
was all he said, but it stirred in her a dispropor- 
tionate depth of passion, which, however, found 
an odd outlet. She lifted a fold of her mudstained 
skirt : “ Look at that ! ’ 

He did so attentively, for a moment, then he 
laughed: “Mud? I’m often caked over with 
it myself . . . Now you’re here, since you 

won’t forgive me, won’t you come in and brush it 
off and have lunch and see my Van Dykes? They 
are worth it, I assure you.” 

This was worse and worse. Moreover, it re- 
minded her that he had actually found her within his 
gates. “ Did you suppose for a single second that 
I was going in ? ” she defied him. 

“ Not for the hundredth part of a second,” said he 


318 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


cheerfully. “ You came here to see five-toed fowls, 
and doubtless you expected to find some of them 
swimming in the moat.” 

His irony, however gently uttered, was unendur- 
able. She bit her lip against rising tears, and again 
turned to go. This time he flung his horse’s bridle 
across one arm and kept pace with her. “ I must 
get something out of this,” he observed, “ if not 
forgiveness or a visit, at least the pleasure of ac- 
companying you a little way.” 

Her voice trembled almost uncontrollably with 
righteous indignation. “ Will you please go 
? ” 

“ To Africa?” he asked quickly. “If I leave 
you now, I shall go straight up to town and engage 
my passage.” 

She was suddenly cold with the fear that had 
haunted her for weeks; but all she got out was a 
desperate little sentence : “ Your hand is quite well 

now, isn’t it ? ” 

He stared at her in some amazement, then he 
laughed: “You naughty, sulky child! You are 
quite impossible! You simply do not exist!” 

She caught him up rather neatly: “Well, then, 
why consult me about Africa? ” 

“ Well, then,” said he, “ why bother about my 
hand? What has Africa got to do with that? ” 

“ Oh, more than you think ! ” she cried, looking 
at him, with eyes softened and full of trouble. 
“ Much more than you think ! ” 


A PERVERSE PILGRIM 


3i9 


He clearly had no inkling of the possibility that 
she could not forget. He said, with determination : 
“ Pm going to strike ; I’ve had enough of this. For 
the last time, I ask you: can you let me go to 
Africa? Because, if you can, I’m going.” 

She looked at him piteously: “I can let you go; 
I want you to go; but to Africa never! ” 

“ This,” said he, “ is perfect madness ! ” 

“ Maybe so,” she answered breathlessly, “ but 
it’s the way I’ve got to think ! ” 

“ You are going straight to London? ” he asked 
gently. 

And she who had indeed contemplated such a 
course, answered all in a passionate hurry, changing 
her plans even as she spoke : “ No such thing ! I 
shall wander on and on, and I don’t know when I 
shall come back. Never, perhaps! Certainly, not 
until . . ” 

“ — I have sailed for Africa, I suppose,” he con- 
cluded for her, but not with as much sadness as she 
might have hoped, had she been the sentimental 
woman she prided herself on not being. 

At the head of the downward slope, he paused: 
“ I’m not going any farther with you. You shall 
have your own way — as usual. But I’m going to 
tell you a plain truth — something to remember 
when I’m in — Africa. Now, then, Petty-Zou! 
When I kissed you up there in the cottage — it’s 
no good looking that way — I’m dead certain that 
you liked it quite as much as I did . . . Good-bye.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


THE NETS ARE SPREAD 

Upon receipt of Petty-Zou’s note, Eleanor rushed 
up to the pottery for explanation; and there en- 
counted Pouff only, tearful but defiant. 

“ I tell you, miss, she shall have her ’oliday — 
that she shall; and when she comes ’ome, she shall 
find the place in proper order. I’m not going — 
not me!” 

Between them they soon made out the whole 
situation, and when Eleanor understood, she said 
only: “ Well, Pouff, I believe you’re right. As far 
as I can, I authorize you to stay.” 

“ So does Tudor,” said Pouff, even in her dis- 
tress troubling to memorize the long word, and 
wondering what it meant. 

Thus the conspiracy was hatched. Larry was 
taken into confidence. It was agreed that Pouff 
should hold the fort and keep it well stocked; and 
that the interested House should be given only a 
fragment of the truth to gnaw — that the little pot- 
ter had gone on her holiday. 

So Pouff flung her character into the hottest 
part of the kitchen-fire, and stayed on, consoling 
herself with housekeeping to such an extent that 
320 


THE NETS ARE SPREAD 


321 


many a time before the week had passed, she had 
washed the clean floors with soapsuds and tears. 
Still, the days of waiting passed slowly. 

One morning, she awoke with a premonition that 
her lady was coming back, and with an uplift of 
spirits, made preparations for the event. She was 
in the midst of a wonderful blackleading of the 
grate, when she was called to the door by a knock. 

Outside stood the corner butcher, with his cross- 
striped apron and his wooden tray : “ Thought I’d 
give you a look-in to see if there was no more 
orders a-comin\” 

“ Nothing to-day,” she answered primly, vexed 
at his unwarranted intrusion, especially because of 
the black on her hands and (probably, she thought) 
on her face. 

“ Your trade’s fell off mighty quick,” he insisted. 

“ Missus is away,” was her brief answer. 

“And left you in charge — eh? Not ’arf bad. 
When’s she cornin’ back? I’m missin’ the sound 
of your lovely woice a-jawin’ me down to twenty 
percent, below the market.” 

“ I should think, Mr. Cruppy,” says Pouff, now 
very stately indeed, “ you would be needed to mind 
your shop — unless you’ve gone bankrupted and 
shut up.” 

“Shut up?” says he. “I’m a-growin’, ’arf a 
mile a minute, and you knows it too. And only 
this week I’ve begun with a boy to come in 
and ’elp of a morning, else I shouldn’t be ’ere.” 


322 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


Whether Pouff divined any subtle connection 
between the two events, is not clear, but she ob- 
served with asperity, “ Much obliged to you, I’m 
sure,” and prepared to shut the door. 

“ I say ! ” he called out in distress, and the door 
remained stationary. 

“ Are you meaning to give me the sack? ” 

Suddenly her trouble overcame her fortitude, and 
clapping the hollow of her arm to her eyes, she 
began to sob. Fortunately, as she may have noted, 
all neighbouring doors were closed, and the stair- 
way was empty; and likewise, fortunately, her 
tears gave an excuse for turning up the clean side 
of her apron. And they did their work. 

“ I say,” he murmured, “ chuck it and come and 
live over the shop ! ” 

She lifted her arm enough to say: “ Go on! Get 
along with you ! ” In her distress she pushed the 
door an inch or two further open. 

He considered a moment, then observed : “ Mrs. 
Cruppy — that ain’t good enough for you , per- 
haps? ” 

And she : “ I don’t want no dukes.” 

He stood uncomfortably see-sawing his tray on 
his shoulder. 

“ But when you see me leaving my Miss Petty- 
Zou, my name ain’t Rosa Gunglewick,” said she, 
with full emphasis. 

“ Which I ’ope it won’t be,” was his prompt 
retort. 


THE NETS ARE SPREAD 


323 


Pouff wiped her eyes and looked at him with her 
old defiance. “ You might keep on arskin’ of me 
till Doomsday and I wouldn’t say no different — 
not while she ain’t got nobody but me to look after 
her.” 

The butcher whistled to cover defeat. 

“ And when I change my mind, you’ll know it ! ” 

“ ’Ope I shall, I’m sure,” said he disconsolately. 

And then so suddenly that she started back, he 
brought his tray forward and pushed the door wide 
open, took out a handful of something red in a 
newspaper, and laid it on the table. 

“ It’s a tasty bit,” said he, “ selected with care, 
and you’ll eat it for your dinner, or my name ain’t 
’enery Cruppy.” 

“ Which it mayn’t be for anythink I know,” was 
her parting shot, as she banged the door. But when 
she undid the moist parcel and found it to be a 
plump juicy steak, of an exquisite proportion and 
fibre that appealed to her most critical faculties, she 
sat down and fairly blubbered. 

Later on, when the treat was set away in the 
scullery window, anent the forlorn hope that Petty- 
Zou would turn up in time to eat it, when the flat 
was almost repellant in its shining cleanliness, and 
Pouff had washed off the black-lead from her own 
person and put on cap and apron, she sat down with 
a bit of needlework, and began to fleck it with 
tears almost as fast as with stitches. She was 
presently startled again by a bold rapping on the 


- 324 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


door, and had a brief fear of the butcher’s re- 
turn. 

But she opened to a tall gentleman whose face 
seemed vaguely familiar, though she could by no 
means remember where she had seen it. 

“ Rosa,” said he, “ I have come to bring you 
news of your mistress.” 

“O sir!” she cried. “Good?” 

“ She’ll be home, probably day after to-morrow, 
or early the morning after.” 

Her face was a study in dentition. Suddenly it 
beamed with intelligence : “ I know you now, sir. 

You’re the green gentleman! ” 

“ Green ? ” he asked mildly. 

“ Yes, the one she’s been a-makin’— not like the 
other.” 

He may perhaps be pardoned for not having 
understood until she took him into the workroom 
and drew the sheet away from the portrait-medal- 
lion. 

“ Ah ! ” was all he said, but she saw the gleam in 
his eyes. “ I stopped on my way up to see your 
brother-in-law, but he was reported to be having 
a shave and a hair-cut.” 

Many rays of light shot into blinding effulgence 
for Pouff. “You’re him!” she cried, without re- 
spect or grammar. 

“ I may be,” he answered, with a twinkle. 
“ And you’re the ungrateful servant who stays on 
in spite of notice, abetted by the Law in person.” 


THE NETS ARE SPREAD 325 

She was so busy wondering what abetted meant 
that she forgot to answer. 

“ Ah, well,” he continued, “ that you’ll have to 
settle up with your mistress. I called for a word 
or two with Tudor and to see that things were all 
right here.” She told herself, with passing admira- 
tion, that he gave himself very much the airs of a 
master. Aloud she said: “If you please, sir, and 
if I’m not taking the liberty to speak at all — ” 

“ Go ahead,” he encouraged her. 

“ — if once I could see her well provided for and 
in good hands — ” 

“ Well, if you could — ? ” 

“ There’s a young man round the corner ; a 
butcher he is . . .” 

“ Sound financially ? ” he inquired, with humorous 
interest. 

“ He’s standing on his own legs, sir,” was the 
staid reply. “ But I wouldn’t leave her alone in 
the world, not for a hundred butchers” — and here 
perhaps she remembered the juicy steak — “and all 
their joints . . 

“ It’s a clear case,” he said mysteriously. “ Be 
nice to him — and you’ll be happy yet.” 

He vanished abruptly but only within Eleanor’s 
door. 

“ You know where she is ? ” was her eager 
greeting. 

“ Between Elmwood and Coulton Major, to the 
best of my belief.” 


326 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ What doing ? ” 

“ Walking.” 

“ Well? ” 

“ I understand so.” 

“ And happy?” 

“ There I am in doubt.” 

“You have her shadowed?” 

He raised a hand in deprecation of her blunt- 
ness : “ I know a man who happens to be making the 
same trip; but he keeps his distance. You think 
it justifiable?” 

“ Well — under the circumstances,” she granted. 

“ I have left few stones unturned,” said he 
musingly. 

“ Is it worth all that?” — the budding novelist 
here dissected the situation. 

He smiled upon her : “ My dear Miss Lane, you 
are young yet.” She was struck with compunction 
at the thought of her dear Larry slaving away at 
rehearsals that they two might be happy the sooner. 

“ I think of one stone more. If you could con- 
vert the Countess into an active ally ? ” 

“ She will have to be decent.” 

“ Decent isn’t much. She ought to be . . 

“ Sisterly ? I know. I have been wondering on 
the way here whether I could do anything about the 
Family.” 

“ Yours or hers? ” 

“ Either — anything to make them shake hands. 
She had an ancestor somewhere back in the seven- 


THE NETS ARE SPREAD 


327 

teenth century, had she not ? Did he go over in the 
Mayflower? I seem to remember . . . He 

must have had a father. But how does one — ? ” 

Then Eleanor’s special knowledge came to the 
rescue : “ British Museum, Record Office, Somerset 
House,” was her succinct answer. 

“ Gad ! ” said he, like a schoolboy. “ It’s an 
idea ! ” Then his face fell. “ But I haven’t much 
to go upon.” 

“Jeremiah,” observed Eleanor. “Jeremiah 
Pickersgill. It’s an uncommon name. But I doubt 
the Mayflower. He may have been the pirate. 
Petty-Zou knows there was a pirate somewhere in 
the line; or perhaps it’s her hypothesis to explain 
herself?” 

“ I’ll follow it up,” he said as he departed, “ and 
let you know.” 

When Larry came in to tea, he manifested some 
anxiety about Petty-Zou’s prolonged absence, and 
made vague suggestions about Scotland Yard. 
Eleanor shook her head, happily mysterious : “ I 
can do better than that. Wait a few days. The 
great thing is to strengthen the tyranny of Pouff.” 

With this end in view, when Larry had gone, she 
ran up to the young women in question. 

“ I’ve been thinking, Pouff. Of course, you have 
been wrong in the matter throughout — ” 

She paused and the insubordinate maid answered 
meekly: “ Yes’m.” 

“ But since you have saved the money, and more 


328 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


especially since you've got it, I don’t know that 
there’d be any special harm in your spending it as 
you like.” 

No more needed to be said. On the following 
day, Pouff passed a happy morning in Tottenham 
Court Road ; and stipulated that the superior brass- 
bound article selected should be sent without delay. 

“ Poor little Petty-Zou ! ” was Eleanor’s recur- 
ring thought. “ The nets are spread everywhere. 
She can’t escape this time.” 

On her way downstairs, she faced quite cheer- 
fully the questions and comments of the House. 
Mrs. Lemon shook her head and Pip whimpered 
piteously for his Petty-Zou; but Mrs. McCallahan 
told hopeful stories of ladies who had happily 
escaped perils by land and sea. Mrs. Wale became 
philosophical in her enunciation that whatever 
harm you come to, you mostly brought on your- 
self; and if you was to die, as well out of your bed 
as in it — which it came to the same thing in the 
end. On the ground floor, Eleanor was called in 
as a third in an animated discussion as to the 
whereabouts of Petty-Zou between old Seascale and 
Rose-Mary, while the little Tudors hung on the 
railing above, their mouths watering for the cupful 
of pickled onions that their elder sister carried. 

So it was that nets of love were everywhere 
spread about the House to catch the little potter 
when she should come wandering home. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


THE COUNTESS WRITES A DIPLOMATIC NOTE 

Lord Wharton sauntered into Portland Place one 
afternoon, and announced to his sister : “ My dear, 
Petty-Zou will be home to-morrow or thereabouts.” 

If he felt himself a fisherman throwing a gaudy 
fly, the trout did not rise. “ Ah ? ” said she, and 
continued her reading. 

He flung again a more startling bait : “ Are you 
prepared for the worst ? ” 

She nosed cautiously along the bank : “ I am 
prepared for anything.” But she closed her book 
and gave him full attention. 

“ What I mean is, will you write her the proper 
sort of welcome into the family? ” 

But the trout leaped in the air and flung away 
from him, a great pace: “l shall do my duty, I 
hope.” 

The innocent fish did not see the line he was 
reeling in, as he put the topic aside with a brief, 
“ I hope so. By the way, Eve been at the Record 
Office lately.” 

She nibbled at the bait, not feeling the hook by 
which he held her : “ What doing?. ” 

3 2 9 


330 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


“ Looking up points in our family history — 
we’ve so much to be proud of, you know! ” 

“So I have always understood,” she answered 
placidly. 

“Have you ever heard,” he insinuated, “ how 
old Philip the First got his fortune? It seems he 
was a spy at Saint Germain, in the service of King 
George . . 

But this she would not swallow : “You are quite 
mistaken, Philip. How dare you bring forward 
such a disreputable idea ? The estates came . . 

“ Ah, yes, the estates — they were stolen in 
another way; I was speaking of the money to keep 
them up. And the fact was even more disreputable 
than is my mention of it.” 

“ I don’t see why you tell me these horrible 
things,” said the Countess, looking for her hand- 
kerchief. 

“ Yes, I know, it doesn’t always do to rake among 
the ashes of family history; the smoke may not be 
pleasant, although like wine, it improves with age.” 

To this her only answer was one or two slow 
tears, which she carefully dried to make way for 
others. 

“ Don’t cry,” said he cruelly. “ You’re going 
out to-night, remember. The Wharton nose is a 
noble feature, but it looks best uncoloured.” 

“ I can’t think what you’re getting at,” was her 
plaintive protest. 

“ I was really leading up — though you mightn’t 


A DIPLOMATIC NOTE 


33i 


have thought it — to the question of Petty-Zou’s 
ancestry . . 

“Oh, Malachi and the Mayflower \” she cried 
impatiently. “ I’m tired of them. I want some- 
thing more substantial.” 

“ Not Malachi,” said he, “ Jeremiah — and in- 
finitely more solid. Now this Jeremiah Pickersgill 
to all intents and purposes had a father, 
Lodowick . . .” 

“ I fail to see why this should interest me,” she 
said, very haughtily. 

And he : “ Aha ! Said Lodowick devoted his 

early life to seeking easy and lucrative government 
posts, being, in fact, no other than the youngest son, 
cast off, with or without reason, of the notorious 
Earl of—” 

“ Earl ? ” gasped the Countess. 

“ Ay, Earl of Uxminster.” 

The Countess closed her eyes in deep cogitation: 
“ I seem to remember something about him.” 

“If you do,” said he, “ better keep it dark. He’s 
not an acquaintance t<j be proud of. He had a bad 
name even in the days of Charles II. Do you 
remember ... ? ” 

“ Why should I remember such things ? ” 

“ Quite right. We won’t go into them. Besides, 
they shouldn’t affect our esteem for Petty-Zou, 
should they ? ” 

She did not answer, being absorbed in the ancient 
and glorious tradition of the Uxminsters. In this 


332 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


she was well versed. Indeed, it had been remarked 
more than once in unfriendly circles that, so great 
was her knowledge of genealogy, she had even 
succeeded in tying the recent line of the Whartons 
to that ancient and honourable ancestor of the 
older line who came over with the Conqueror. 

“Well — well?” he prompted her, with a touch 
of asperity. 

“ I am thinking,” said she, “ that if Petty-Zou 
had been a man, she might have put in a fairly 
good claim against the present Uxminsters. More- 
over, there is a resemblance — a decided resem- 
blance, now I come to think of it — between Petty- 
Zou and the Earl.” 

“ Gad ! ” said he, “ I hope not. That little, runty, 
half-baked, half-peeled codling!” 

“ Yes,” she insisted with firmness, “ there is. It 
is something about the curve of the nostril, I think. 
I shall point it out to Petty-Zou the next time I see 
her. I wonder if she has never noticed it?” 

“ I should judge not,” said he, “ as she is still 
unaware of these distinguished relations of hers.” 

“ Be sarcastic if you like, Philip,” said she, with 
dignity. “ You cannot deny that this simple fact 
makes all the difference in the world. It gives 
Petty-Zou — what has hitherto been her only lack 
— a status. You know as well as I do that here in 
England — thank heaven, it is so ! — you may be 
what you like, beautiful, clever, interesting; it all 
goes for nothing unless you have a father.” 


A DIPLOMATIC NOTE 


333 


“ That’s a quotation,” he caught her up. “ Rank 
plagiarism ! ” 

“ It’s true, none the less,” she defended herself. 
“ There’s no getting round it.” 

“ Well, if I were disposed to argue, I might cite 
the Reverend Reuben as an indisputable father. 
But it happens that I’m not interested in the point, 
beyond feeling rather pleased that her aristocratic 
ancestors were as bad a lot as my own.” 

“ You never have treated your family with prop- 
er respect, Philip,” she complained, “ and on the 
whole I’m rather glad the title will go down in 
Edward’s line.” 

“ Amen ! ” said he. Then a curious expression 
shot over his face. “ By Jove ! ” said he, “ I 
wonder . . . Well, I never thought of that 
possibility before! ” 

Pressed for an explanation, he said only : “ Don’t 
bother me, Alicia, I’m thinking. Just be nice to 
Petty-Zou when she comes home. I was only 
wondering whether I have a glimmer of her real 
reason for holding me off so long.” 

No more than this would he say, but left her to 
make what she could of his broken utterance, while 
he walked slowly homeward to St. James’s Street. 

Before he had arrived, she had sat down to indite 
a diplomatic and sisterly note to Petty-Zou. 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


THE PRODIGAL MISTRESS 

Petty-Zou came home in time to fulfil the proph- 
ecy of the noble lord. Eleanor heard her creep- 
ing upstairs, and longed to rush out and waylay the 
weary pilgrim, but was in doubt as to the reception 
she should have. 

In a moment, however, Petty-Zou herself came 
down again breathless, bright-eyed, all in a flutter. 
“ Yes, Eleanor dear, it’s sweet to see you — but 
there’s a light in my sitting-room ! ” 

Eleanor feigned surprise, not altogether success- 
fully : “ Who can it be ? Burglars ? Let’s go up 
together.” 

Petty-Zou was badly frightened and trembled, as 
with a great pretence at masculine courage, after 
a moment’s faltering, she flung the door wide with 
a bang. 

Pouff bending over the stove with her back to 
them, looked round calmly : “ It’s Miss Petty,” she 
said, with conviction. “ The kettle’s on. Tea 
won’t be five minutes.” 

Petty-Zou’s face was such a tragi-comic blend- 
ing of righteous indignation and pure joy, that 
Eleanor almost wept as she laughed aloud. 

334 


THE PRODIGAL MISTRESS 


335 


A second only lasted the battle of eyes. Then 
Pouff, her broad face nearly as pink as the gums 
she uncovered to smile, advanced firmly, though 
with a touch of caution too, and began to unfasten 
Petty-Zou’s coat. Every moment, Eleanor ex- 
pected the garment to be jerked out of the maid’s 
grasp; but to her amazement unutterable, Petty- 
Zou’s chin went up a little higher to assist the 
process. 

There was a tactful silence until coat and cap 
and gloves were safe on a chair. Then, under 
gentle pressure, Petty-Zou dropped into another, 
and let Pouff take off her little muddy shoes. The 
silence was broken by an agitated : “ Lor, Miss 
Petty, you are in a state ! ” 

Presently this young general turned her mistress 
over into Eleanor’s hands and busied herself to 
hasten the comfort of tea. 

Petty-Zou leaned back with a great sigh, in itself 
a compliment to her home-maker, and let Eleanor, 
hairpin by hairpin, pull down and brush the great 
mass of silver-golden hair, and tie it back with a 
ribbon, little-girl-fashion. And while she was still 
curling her toes happily about the fender, Pouff re- 
appeared with warm water, soap and a towel, to 
wash the prodigal child. 

Between them they coaxed her into a hearty tea, 
all the while showing the most admirable forbear- 
ance in regard to questions. 

There came a series of knocks at the outer door, 


336 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


.with such brief intervals that Pouff was kept busy 
answering them. Her disappearance would be 
followed by an energetic whisper, ending occa- 
sionally with sounds of protest; and then she 
would come back with victory beaming all over 
her face. 

It seems that the House had become cognizant 
of Petty-Zou’s return, and was wishful of paying 
its respects. All inquiries were met by Pouff with 
the dignified reserve of a butler. She condescended 
to appreciate the spirit in which they were made ; but 
she did not unbend to the blandishments of the 
would-be visitors. I incline to think that Larry, 
had he been at home, might have found a way to get 
over her; and Pip certainly got in under her arm, 
while she was skirmishing with her irreproachable 
brother-in-law, himself not admitted beyond the 
precincts of the landing. 

It was during this very colloquy that, in the inter- 
vals of kissing Pip, Petty-Zou whispered, “ She 
hasn’t gone!” 

“ And won’t go,” said Eleanor. 

“ But I dismissed her.” 

Eleanor shrugged. 

“ What am I to do?” 

“ I don’t know whether you would have a legal 
remedy. You might cut off her wages.” 

“ She’d stay anyway,” sighed Petty-Zou. 

" I believe she would ” — Eleanor hesitated — 
“ unless somebody took her off.” 


THE PRODIGAL MISTRESS 337 

“Who?” Petty-Zou’s lips barely formed the 
word, for Pouff was coming back. 

“ I hate Surrey ! ” she continued, with quite un- 
necessary vigour when Pouff had retired into the 
scullery. 

“ My dear, Surrey is beautiful ! ” Eleanor rebuked 
her. 

“ It may be that.” 

“ And full of interesting associations.” 

“Associations?” she said. “Oh, yes, associa- 
tions.” 

“ Didn't you have a good time ? ” 

“ Heavenly — in spots ! ” 

While Eleanor was wondering if she dared press 
questions, Petty-Zou came out with the whole story, 
up to the moment when she passed the finger-post, 
too blinded by her tears to see that she was on the 
London road. 

There she paused for comment. 

“ So you don’t know whether he will go to Africa 
or not?” 

She gave no answer. 

“ It’s a pity to let that beautiful old place, isn’t 
it?” 

“ Seven years,” was her curious answer. 

“Who knows . -..?” 

“We may all be dead then. I shall,” she an- 
nounced, with the air of one who has finally made 
up her mind. 

“ Oh, no,” retorted Eleanor lightly, “ you’re 


338 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


tough. You’re good for half a century yet, Petty- 
Zou. It would be a pity to miss your second child- 
hood, when the first is so delightful.” 

“ You call it that? I call it autumn. Of course, 
I am unseasonable — I know that — quite a curi- 
osity, like a dwarf, or a fat woman, or a man with- 
out ears. I might get an engagement at the 
Hippodrome as the Child-that-wouldn’t-grow-up.” 

“ I’m sorry you didn’t see those Van Dykes,” 
observed Eleanor. 

“ So were all the farmers’ wives along the road. 
But if I had gone in, purely and simply for the 
Van Dykes, I should never have lifted up my head 
again.” 

“Well, what after the cross-roads?” urged 
Eleanor. 

“ It was all walking and rain, until the sun came 
out and made my head ache. And I had put my 
shoes too near the fire in my haste to get away 
from Mrs. Lyndhurst’s, so they cracked and fell to 
pieces, and I had to buy these in a village, and it 
took nearly all my money.” 

“ So you don’t like walking trips ? ” asked Elea- 
nor naughtily. “ Not even with beautiful scenery 
and fine old churches ? ” 

“Churches?” — she caught Eleanor’s arm in a 
panic. “ Don’t speak of them! It was while I was 
resting in one, I saw that a man had died of it! ” 

“Of what?” Eleanor had quite forgotten her 
mention of hydrophobia. 


THE PRODIGAL MISTRESS 


339 


“ Of the — I can’t say it. You told me. And 
the tombstone said he had fits and suffered horribly 
and was dipped in salt water; but he died all the 
same.” 

“ Now this is very sad! ” said Eleanor, suddenly 
remembering, and penitent. “ I don’t think my- 
self there’s much danger if he stays in England ; but 
don’t let him go to Africa, my dear.” 

“ There was a ship sailed yesterday,” answered 
Petty-Zou sorrowfully. 

“ Tell me more of your adventures,” said Elea- 
nor, to divert her. v 

“ The hills — they made me remember all the 
years I’ve been forgetting. And my skirt began to 
fray around the bottom, so that it wasn’t respect- 
able.” 

Eleanor could scarcely refrain from smiling at 
the intrusion of a word so rare in Petty-Zou’s 
vocabulary. 

“ That was this morning. First thing, I lost my 
purse. I don’t know how. Had it in my hand 
when I sat down to rest on the grass. I went back 
several miles, but it was no good. Luckily I had 
coppers in my pocket, and I found a shilling among 
them. I walked as far as Leatherhead, except that 
a man gave me a lift in a cart for two or three miles ; 
and then I had just money enough for my fare and 
a bun and a glass of milk. I had to walk here from 
Victoria. There were moments during that last 
tramp when I thought I should have to drop and 


340 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


sleep under a hedge all night. It rained 
too . . 

“ And you’re glad to be at home again ? ” 

Before she could answer, Pouff came in with a 
trayful of dishes. 

“ Pouff,” said Petty-Zou, “ I gave you notice.” 

“ Yes’m ” — her politeness was icy. 

“ Well — I withdraw it,” said Petty-Zou humbly. 

Pouff hastily set her tray on the dresser, and de- 
parted with her apron over her head, presumably in 
tears. And Eleanor knew what Petty-Zou did 
not suspect, that these were, in part at least, due 
to the indefinite postponement of the butcher’s 
hopes. 

When Pouff returned, Petty-Zou was saying 
wearily : “ And now I think I’ll have my bath and 

go to bed.” 

“ Did you sleep comfortably while you were 
away ? ” asked Eleanor, with a guilty remembrance 
of the drawn curtains of the Shell. She knew that 
within it was packed nearly full of ancient models 
and casts that had hitherto encumbered the work- 
room. 

“ So — so — I don’t remember. Of course, it’s 
never the same as one’s own . . .” 

She was approaching the curtains of Japanese 
tissue, when her words were cut short by amazement 
at the appearance of her bedroom. 

In silence, Eleanor and Pouff awaited the explo- 
sion. The brass knobs of the little bed glittered in 


THE PRODIGAL MISTRESS 


34i 


the firelight, and a faint sweetness of lavender 
seemed to come from the linen. 

The silence seemed to the watchers abnormally 
long. It was broken by a soft ripple of sound that 
swelled to a chuckle, and then to a continuous brook- 
like murmur of laughter until at last Petty-Zou lay 
in Eleanor’s arms, helpless between tears and mirth ; 
while Pouff, still soldierly-erect, fought vainly with 
chokes and snuffles of pure joy. 


CHAPTER XL 


ALL THE BEGGARS IN THE GLASS 

The next morning Pouff brought Petty-Zou a let- 
ter as she sat, in her dressing-gown, on the settle 
by the convex mirror, between the fireside and the 
door. 

Twice she read it through, then looked at the 
wistful, doubting face of Sidonia in the glass. 
“ My dear, she’s actually climbing down ! Can you 
think why? It almost seems as if she cares for me 
now . . . Can you think of a reason, Sid? ” 

And after a moment, Sidonia clutched her heart 
with a sharp little cry : “ I know ! He has gone ! 
And she’s so relieved that there’s no more danger 
for him, she can afford to be kind ! I can’t go — 
no, that I can’t, and let her twist that knife round 
in me ! ” 

She summoned Pouff and despatched a telegram 
in polite refusal of an invitation to Portland Place. 

However, she sat for many hours, that day, her 
two selves communing and near falling-out, more 
than once, over the possibilities of passenger-lists on 
African-bound ships. 

Towards tea-time, she was somehow conveyed by 
342 


THE BEGGARS IN THE GLASS 343 


Pouff into her bedroom with its glorious brass- 
bound central figure, and shown a grey muslin dress, 
one of last year’s extravagances. 

“ Why should I wear that? ” she asked rebellious- 
ly; but Pouff, somehow, without making a direct 
answer, managed to get her into it before it was 
time to put the kettle on. 

And presently Pouff showed in a great lady in 
slate-coloured silk, with her face heavily swathed in 
a magnificent rose-point lace scarf. 

Petty-Zou hesitated a little, but was swiftly gath- 
ered up into ample arms while a muffled voice said 
hoarsely : “ My dear child, let’s make up at once 
and get it over; and then I must go home. I have 
a most racking neuralgia ! ” 

“ You shouldn’t have troubled to come,” said 
Petty-Zou coldly, and then suggested a cup of tea. 

But Lady Savernake’s mind was elsewhere as she 
stared hard at Petty-Zou. “There really is a re- 
semblance as I shall tell Philip. I knew it was not 
fancy ! Do you like Lady Uxminster ? ” 

“ I don’t know her,” said Petty-Zou, in amaze- 
ment at this turn of thought. “ I never saw her in 
my life. I don’t like what the papers print about 
her.” 

“ There ! ” said the Countess. “ Blood will tell, 
as I always say. She’s not at all the thing, you 
know. Poor Uxminster. You should pity him.” 

And seeing the bewilderment caused by her 
words, she actually condescended to be playful and 


344 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


chuck Petty-Zou under the chin : “Never mind ! It 
will all come out when Philip returns from Africa.” 

“ .When did he sail ? ” asked Petty-Zou, steadying 
her eyes and her voice; and not only so, but turn- 
ing so that she could watch her little companion in 
the glass and make quite sure that she gave no sign 
of the tumult within. 

The Countess gazed at her steadily for a moment : 
“ Clearly you don’t read your Post well, my dear. 
I must be going . . . My neuralgia is becom- 

ing impossible. Good-bye, child, until to-morrow.” 

For a moment after she had gone, Petty-Zou’s 
eyes were full of a wild hatred; then they grew so 
dim that she could scarcely see Sidonia as she 
dropped down before her. And it took her an age 
to find and unfold that baleful newspaper, and read 
its announcement that suddenly left her heart and 
life empty. 

“ It’s all a terrible tangle, Sid. I can’t be good 
much longer ; and I can’t keep on pretending to live 
fairy-tales here alone! What shall we do, my 
dear? What can we do? It’s all very well to be 
lonely when you are young ; but when you grow old, 
and have to put away home-comfort with the one 
you love best in the world, it’s — it’s rather chilly, 
Sidonia. Suppose — after all — he would rather 
have had me than anyone else? He tried often 
enough to make me believe it. Suppose I have done 
wrong again and it’s too late to repent . . . 

Suppose he does get hydrophobia or the sleeping- 


THE BEGGARS IN THE GLASS 345 

sickness or some other fatal disease in that dreadful 
East Coast . . . Suppose — suppose — O Sid, 

my heart will really break this time ! I can’t bear 
any more ! ” 

Twilight was upon her presently, and she sent 
away the tea-tray untouched. So absorbed was she 
in contemplation of dismal pictures in the Magic 
Mirror, that she did not hear Pouff sniffing in the 
kitchen, or hear her suddenly stop and light the gas, 
or observe her pass through the living-room on her 
way to the door. 

The first thing that she observed was that the 
glass reflected suddenly a shadow whose reality was 
supposed to be somewhere between the North Fore- 
land and Land’s End. 

And yet the reflection looked very solid as it drew 
near to the small Sidonia ; and the touch of the hand 
and arm seemed very real, as these went round Tyr- 
rhena and gathered her home. And the voice could 
scarcely have been imaginery that said : “ Not a 
word. It’s all right. You’re had this time, and no 
mistake. I sent Alicia on before as a scout and she 
spied out the land pretty well . . . Yes, the 

Post was mistaken; newspapers sometimes are. I 
did make a few inquiries at the steamship office, and 
I met a reporter who — misunderstood me. I 
wasn’t sorry, my dear; I thought you deserved a 
little scare . . . Don’t protest; it won’t do a 

bit of good. I’m sure of my ground now . . . 

But after all it’s only fair that I should tell you one 


346 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 


thing. These last months I have come to under- 
stand that Tyrrhena may have had some show of 
reason as a backbone to her starched little con- 
science ; and all I can say to it, my dear, is that my 
brother Edward has a grandson for whom he confi- 
dently expects the title. I should not dare, after all 
these years, to upset the family arrangements in the 
way you have persistently proposed for me ever 
since our acquaintance became something more. 
Well, then, what does Tyrrhena say to that? ” 

“ She says,” answered Petty-Zou, in a trembling 
little voice, yet very well content to rest at home 
where she was, — “ she says that it’s the queerest 
thing in the world, considering her past, that she 
should come to this natural end for all women 
. . . And she doesn’t quite know whether she 

ought . . 

“ This won’t do,” said he. “No oughts to-day.” 

“It’s been such a strange life — mine, all the 
way. I count it back to the discovery of my other 
self in the Magic Mirror — my mother’s little glass; 
and all along there is the double nature, Tyrrhena 
and Sidonia, the Puritan and the Pirate, the good 
girl and the naughty one . . 

“ Ah, yes,” he interrupted. “ I shall tell you 
presently all about your wicked ancestor that won 
my sister’s heart — Jeremiah Pickersgill, you know. 
Go on.” 

“ I don’t think I want to go on,” she said dream- 
ily. “ It has been all struggle and adventure and 


THE BEGGARS IN THE GLASS 347 


fairy-tales hitherto; I can’t imagine what respecta- 
bility will be like.” 

“ Not after living with Rosa Gunglewick?” said 
he. “ But you needn’t be more respectable than you 
like. Let me remind you, though, that her happi- 
ness is at stake as well as yours.” And thereupon 
to clinch his case, he told dramatically the tale of 
the courtship of Cruppy, and Pouff’s heroic denial, 
concluding: “ You’re not putting off the old life — 
don’t think it, my dear. You’ll bring it all over' 
into the new. You won’t be deaf to the other beg- 
gars, because you’ve listened at last to the beggar in 
your own heart. You can go on loving your friends 
here none the worse for an occasional flitting into 
Surrey, and even if you should come to live in a 
house quite at the other end of town. We’ll see that 
Pip models his clay-horses and gets the Prix de 
Rome , if the faculty is in him; and we’ll keep an 
eye on the fortunes of the Jakeses and McCallahans 
and Boococks, and we’ll go on trying to make some- 
thing of Danny Wale; and Eleanor and Larry shall 
be as happy as Pouff in her little heaven over the 
corner butcher-shop. I can see all that in the Magic 
Mirror, can’t you? And looking hard, I can see 
even poor old Mrs. Barker out again and cured and 
perhaps with her lost daughter . . . We can 

try to bring it about, you know ; and trying is more 
than half achievement. And far away in one cor- 
ner, I see Bumpus with a yellow dog at his heels, 
laying by money in the bank and — who knows ? — 


348 THE BEGGAR IN THE HEART 

xj 

marrying an Australian girl . . . And some 

years down in the future, I see a beautiful white 
headstone in Kensal Green for old Seascale and his 
long-departed wife — which you once told me, 
and I remembered, you see — was the very crown 
of his heart’s desires . . . And that’s all I can 

see in the glass at present. But you’ll have your 
hands full, my dear, with Erasmus House and Mil- 
ton and Bunyan and all the street and Innocents’ 
Lane ; outside, the big old orange of the world that 
you haven’t sucked dry yet, nor won’t as long as you 
live; and inside, at your hearth, a husband from 
whom you laboriously peel off layer after layer of 
class-feeling until you have modelled him into quite 
a decent sort of chap . . 

There fell a silence between them. Indeed, they 
might have been supposed to be dreaming immoder- 
ately and unreasonably for such old people. But at 
last Petty-Zou said : “ It’s such a dear, funny old 

world; and what a mess I’ve made of my part of it, 
all these years ! ” 

“ That’s because you wouldn’t listen,” said he. 

“ Listen to what ? ” 

He laughed. 





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